by Bea Paige
“Careful, falling in would be unwise. We need to wait for the steps.”
“We?”
He frowns. “I’m not letting you go there on your own.”
I look up at Maro, and this time I catch a speck of black in his Golden irises. It is fleeting, and most likely the reflection from the chasm beneath us, but it reminds me of Noella’s warning.
“There is light in the darkest of hearts, as there is dark in the purest of souls. Not everything is as it seems. Be safe, Ciera.”
Her words ring in my head as Maro takes my hand and we descend into Hell.
Chapter 4
It takes forever to walk down the black steps into Hell. Of course, I know that we’re not actually going down. Even though I left school without any qualifications, I was a good student when I had the chance to go to lessons. I know what our planet is made out of, and that there’s definitely no Hell underneath Earth’s crust.
But still, it’s fitting that we’re going down. We’re descending into the unknown, a place I never thought I’d ever visit. Until I met Luke, Lucifer, the devil, whatever, I didn’t even believe in the existence of Hell. Now, it feels very real.
I lose all track of time, my aching thighs the only sign that we’ve been walking downstairs for far too long. Everything around us is pitch black, but Maro gives off enough light to illuminate the next few steps in front of me. Even so, I stumble several times, kept from falling only by the angel’s quick reactions.
“Almost there,” he suddenly says, even though everything looks just the same as it did an hour ago. “Prepare yourself.”
“What for?” I ask, but I put one hand on the handle of my knife. I don’t even have to think to know that I’m prepared to kill to get to my sister. Not that it matters, people in Hell should already be dead, right?
“Stepping through the gate can be unpleasant,” Maro explains.
“What gate....”
I don’t finish my question; I can see it for myself.
Finally, we have reached solid ground. With a sigh of relief, I leave the final step and walk closer to the gate, made from the same glittering dark stone as the ground. Silvery dots are dancing in the blackness, as if the night sky has been trapped in the rock.
The gate itself is a simple stone arch, it doesn’t look like a doorway to Hell at all. I can see the other side of the tunnel we’re in through it. Is it just a symbolic gate leading to yet more stairs?
“Let’s have some light,” Maro whispers and spreads his wings. I turn, surprised by the light suddenly illuminating the cavern, but avert my eyes when I see how bright he’s glowing. It hurts, it’s that intense.
I look at the gate just in time to see the tiny starlight dots move in the stone, first forming lines, then shaky letters.
“Through me, the way is to the suffering city;
Through me, the way is to eternal pain;
Through me, the way among the people lost.
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
I read the words several times, committing them to memory. 'The people lost'... I hope my sister isn't among them. She can still be saved, yes. I need to keep telling myself that.
"Ready? This is your last chance to turn back."
Maro's voice is surprisingly gentle, with none of the previous arrogance.
"Only the brave and the foolish venture through this gate. Or the dead. I hope you're neither dead nor foolish."
I shake my head determinedly. "I'm not sure I'm brave, but some silly Hell gate isn't going to keep me away from Tris."
He laughs. "Hold my hand and don't let go."
Once again, I'm surprised by the warmth of his skin. Tingles run up my arm as I squeeze his hand, enjoying his touch far more than I should. His warmth isn't just physical, somehow, it warms my heart as well, giving me courage.
"Steel yourself. You can't help any of the people we'll see," he whispers, before we step through the gate and blackness surrounds us once more.
Before I see anything, I hear the moans and cries of hundreds, if not thousands of people. It's a sad chorus of pain and despair that brings tears to my eyes. I blink hard, trying to dispel the traitorous tears before we step into the light and Maro will see them. He told me to be brave, and here I am, crying already.
It's still pitch black, which means my ears are the only sense that my mind is focussing on. I wish it wasn't. The sound of whips rings through the air, the wailing of people in agony, the shouts in a cacophony of languages.
I grip Maro's hand a little tighter, concentrating on the touch connecting me to him. The sensation of his warmth drowns out the noise a little, but not enough for it to not sink into my memories. These sounds will follow me into my nightmares, except that this is real, a living nightmare.
"What did they do to deserve being in Hell?" I whisper, not wanting to draw attention to us.
Maro laughs darkly. "We're not in Hell yet, Cookie. This is the vestibule, the antechamber, housing those who were notoriously indecisive. They couldn't make decisions in life, so now they're trapped between Heaven and Hell in death."
Did he just call me Cookie? I decide to ignore that one, the situation is far too serious for banter. "That's terrible. Why are they being punished for something they didn't actually do?"
"Exactly. They didn't do anything. They couldn't decide between good and evil, between helping and obstructing. They are the ones who'd stand and watch a car accident rather than help. Sometimes, people make the wrong decisions, but that's always better than making none at all."
Something glints in the darkness, a pale shimmer. I automatically turn towards it, but Maro holds me back.
"No, you don't want to go there."
"Why?"
It seems counterintuitive to stay in the darkness and not follow the light. Now that my eyes are slowly getting used to the darkness, I notice that there's several sparks of light in the distance
"Those are the fallen angels, the ones who didn't rebel, but who also didn't stay faithful. They're trapped in the vestibule until they decide on a side."
I frown, but then remember that Maro won't see that in the darkness.
"Why don't they just decide? It can't be that hard to follow the good side."
He laughs again, but there's not a trace of humour in his voice when he says, "Trust me, it's not as easy as it sounds. Some prefer this place where they don't have to stand up for either side. Here they can be who they want to be, not having to fit the mould of a good or a bad angel."
I'm about to ask more, specifically where he is on the spectrum, but he squeezes my hand and starts walking, dragging me along with him.
"Let's go before any of them start being curious and recognise me."
"Why would they..."
I stumble before I can finish my sentence and would have fallen if Maro hadn't gripped me tightly around my waist, pulling me up and closer to him.
"Thanks," I mutter, but he doesn't let me go.
"Don't look down," he says, apparently oblivious to the fact that I can't see anything in this darkness.
"Why?"
"Just... don't."
He removes his arm from my waist, only for it to reappear on my shoulder moments later. I should push him away - we only met an hour ago and I usually don't like people touching me - but right now, I need to be distracted from the sounds of the people trapped in the vestibule, and his warmth is a very effective distraction.
He pushes me forward and I walk slowly, hoping that he'll tell me if there's an obstacle in my way. It feels like gravel beneath my feet and every step leaves a crunching noise hanging in the air. I really hope this is just stone and not bones or something gruesome like that.
After a few minutes of traipsing through the dark, something unexpected hits my nostrils.
"Why does it smell of the sea?" I ask Maro, sniffing again to make sure. The smell of salt and algae is unmistakable.
"We've almost reached Acheron, the river dividing the vestibu
le from Hell itself. We'll have to cross on the ferry, hopefully without Charon noticing us."
"Ferry? Like, the ferry carrying souls to the afterlife?"
"Exactly that. And as both of us aren't souls, we better try and stay under the radar. Charon's got a bit of a temper."
I can't help it, Don't Pay the Ferryman by Chris de Burgh begins to play in my head. At least it's a more pleasant sound than the moans of the damned.
Slowly, the gravelly ground beneath our feet gives way to something softer, squishier. It seems we're getting close to the river. I still can't see anything, but there's a slight shimmer on the horizon, like the subtle light just before the dawn. Is there day and night here or is it always dark?
"Stay close to me, Cookie, and don't attract attention," Maro warns me.
"Why the fuck are you calling me Cookie?" I'm getting fed up with his way of talking to me. It's either condescending, arrogant or he's using weird names for me.
He chuckles. "Because you smell like one. Chocolate-chip, if I'm not mistaken."
"What?!"
Nobody has ever told me I smell like biscuits. None, not even past boyfriends who came up with all sorts of abstruse pet names. Of course, I've not had a boyfriend since I started taking care of Tris. She always comes first, and I'm far too busy looking after her and helping us survive. When my step mum died, she didn't just leave me with a toddler, but also a mountain of debt that ate up all the savings and possessions I had, even the tiny flat I'd lived in. Still, I wouldn't have changed it for the world. Tris was my everything, and if I had to be poor and homeless to be with her, so be it. Social services were going to take her away from me when they found out, but going underground shook them off our tail.
"I like cookies," Maro snickers and breathes in deeply. I do the same, but all I smell is the sea, no, the river.
Then I suddenly remember and it all makes sense. I rummage in the pocket of my jacket and pull out the crumbled remains of a cookie that I'd bought for Tris. It was supposed to be a surprise, but when I came home, a much worse surprise was waiting for me. I shudder when I think of Luke's goon. He took my sister. The shudder turns into a trembling of rage. He's so going to pay for that.
I put the cookie back into my pocket. It's for Tris, and I'm going to keep it there until I see her again.
Chapter 5
“Ah fuck,” Maro says shifting his body so that he is standing slightly in front of me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my hand immediately going to my knife still in the sheath at my waist.
“Charon might seem like a deaf old man, but his hearing is as acute as my own. We probably shouldn’t have been so chatty.”
“I wasn’t the one going on about cookies, now was I?” I hiss, just as a boat pulls up to the shore. I hear the sound of splashing water as someone approaches. Maro glances back at me briefly and shakes his head minutely. I know he wants me to remain hidden behind him, but I don’t need his protection. I can look after myself.
My hand grips the handle tightly, whilst I plant my feet in an offensive position. I am ready to fight. I am always ready to fight. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t.
“Maro, long time no see. What brings you back here, old friend?”
Maro laughs, he spreads his wings out wide so that my view is now completely blocked by them. They might look soft and delicate, but I know what they can do, my neck still stings from the cut he gave me earlier.
“OId friend? You and I were never friends, Charon.”
“Then I guess we have different opinions then. Who is this you bring me? Another one of your gifts?”
Gifts? What was he talking about? How many times had Maro been down here?
“I am nobody’s gift,” I say, ducking around Maro’s wing, giving Charon a glare. I almost let out a little yelp of surprise when I see him, but manage to refrain. Christ he’s old. Not just old, but decrepit. He’s barely skin and bone. A long grey gown hangs from his shoulders to his bare feet where long toenails curl into the soft sand underfoot. My eyes travel back upwards following the jagged bones that stick out of his skin. His belly is concave. This man could do with more than a cookie, that’s for sure.
“That’s it, take a good look, young lady,” he says, stepping towards me.
Maro stiffens beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand curl into a fist. Surely he doesn’t think this old man can do any harm?
“Let me look at you,” Charon says, and before I even realise what he is doing my arm is snatched up in his hand and the old man has me yanked up against him. I gag at the smell of his breath. He smiles widely showing a row of rotten teeth. I yank my arm back, but he is surprisingly strong.
Behind us Maro growls. It is very un-angel like. He sounds more like a feral dog.
“Let her go, Charon, she is not your concern.”
The old man ignores him, instead he leans closer to me, his wispy white hair fluttering across my cheek. He makes my skin crawl. I twist my face away from his and glare at Maro, who despite his words, remains exactly where he is. Why isn’t he doing anything? His bloody wings could gut Charon in a second.
“Look at me, child,” a deep gravelly voice demands. It is no longer the feeble voice of an old man, but a voice that belongs to someone infinitely more powerful. My skin erupts in goosebumps as my head turns without my permission. The moment our eyes meet I suck in a startled breath. His rheumy, sepia eyes are now replaced with orbs that are filled with red and orange flames.
“What is this? You are not dead!” he roars, dropping my arm and pushing me away so that I fall backwards onto my arse. This time Maro doesn’t catch my fall. Arsehole.
“Hey, watch it,” I retort, scrambling to my feet.
“She does not belong here, take her back,” Charon repeats, his voice changed back to the usual creak and groan of a voice box well used.
“I am not going back. I need to cross the river. You’re the ferryman. You can take me across.”
He ignores me entirely, stepping past me and up to Maro. Charon leans in and whispers something into his ear. He is so quiet I can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is Maro doesn’t look too happy about it.
“I shall find my own way then,” I say striding towards the water with the intent of getting into his boat and paddling it across the river my damn self.
This time warm hands grasp my arm pulling me back sharply against a firm chest. “One step in that water, and you are lost forever. No one ever rises from the River Acheron.”
“Then let me in the boat.” I grit my teeth against the strength of Maro’s hold and the desire to remain in his arms forever.
“No, you cannot pass this way.” Charon steps before me once again, waggling his finger. “This boat is for the dead, for the sinners. You have no place here, but if you are intent on crossing over, then a lighter vessel is required.” He looks pointedly at Maro, who stiffens behind me. He mutters something under his breath.
“Where can I find a lighter vessel? Are there more boats further along the shore?”
“Stick with this one. You’ll soon find what you’re looking for,” Charon smirks, then winks at me before walking into the water and hauling himself back in the boat. Maro still has me gripped firmly in his arms as Charon rows away.
After a few minutes I lose sight of him in the swirling, grey mists. Maro loosens his arms from around me and I twist on my feet, shoving my hand against his chest in anger.
“Well, that’s just perfect! How am I supposed to get across now?” I shout, frantically looking both ways down the beach. Not that I can see much given the darkness seems to be getting darker, and the mists, well, mistier.
I start striding down the beach in the hope that at some point I come across another boat that will get me across the water. I don’t hear Maro follow, and frankly I am beyond caring. I’d tell him to go to Hell if we weren’t already there.
“I can tell you’re going to be a pain in my arse, Cookie.”
“Listening isn’t your strong point, is it?” Maro grumbles, not bothering to give any eye contact as he flies me over the mist covered water below.
“Shit! Fuck! Damn it to bloody hell! You could have given me some warning.” I can’t help but clutch at his shoulders. If he dropped me now... I push the thought out of my head. He wouldn’t dare, would he?
“Stop fidgeting. I prefer my passengers to sit back and enjoy the ride.”
I stiffen in his arms, the way his tongue rolls around the word ride has my stomach doing stupid backward somersaults, and heat pooling in a place which is distinctly inappropriate.
“So, you’re the light vessel? I should have known. It makes perfect sense,” I ramble trying to ignore the fact that I am exceptionally close to a man who is both incredibly attractive and acutely annoying at the same time.
“The one and only. Wings come in handy every now and then.”
“Yeah don’t I know it,” I mutter, my fingers running over the cut on my neck.
“There have been many times I have wished not to have these wings. They represent both the good and the bad in my life.”
“The bad?”
“Isn’t there always darkness? You of all people should understand that,” he says, silencing my retort. He’s right of course. I do understand it. I do bad things for the right reason even though it is wrong. Charon had said that I had no place in his boat, that I wasn’t a sinner. Whatever he’d seen in me, it wasn’t the whole truth. I had sinned. I’d done terrible things for Luke, and my sister being taken is the consequence.
Silence descends as Maro flies us further across the water. Minutes tick by and I find myself relaxing into his hold as I watch his wings move up and down through the air. They are mesmerising. He is mesmerising. My eyelids begin to droop, the sudden comfort I feel luring my body into a false sense of security. In his arms, I feel safer than I have done in a very long time. It’s not a good sign, not at all. I can’t allow myself the fantasy of thinking that this is anything other than a means to an end. Tris is my priority.