The Children of Wisdom Trilogy

by Stephanie Erickson

  Despite the fact that we’ve delved further into hell than most heavenly beings ever do, each new form of torture is difficult to absorb. We stand at those first cells and watch the souls trapped inside, helpless to save them. I remember seeing this section of hell centuries ago on my tour, but I haven’t been back since. Still, the memory is fresh. The sight of those tortured souls isn’t easily forgotten.

  “What is the larger message here?” Galenia asks. “Those in the maze were left to wander after misleading folks their whole lives. What have these people done?”

  Penn speaks up before I can, which surprises me. “I read about this in the Keepers’ books. This punishment is for those who thrived on attention, demanding things from everyone around them, talking constantly about themselves and their own needs without ever expecting a response. These were the souls who always ensured the focus was constantly on them.” He says it without taking his eyes off the soul inside the cell he’s peering into.

  “It’s not necessarily their only crime,” I add. “Just the one the demons deemed most effective to punish.”

  “What does that mean?” Horatia asks.

  “Each human is unique, and so is their punishment,” I try to explain as we walk, peeking into each cell, searching for our lost Spinner. “Some humans who were violent toward others, murderers, rapists, things like that, aren’t necessarily hurt by violence themselves. In fact, they enjoy it. So the demons must find another way to torture them. Perhaps a man like that sought validation from his mother as a child and never got it? He might be trapped with a reflection of her, only to be ignored for all eternity. Although there are general areas of hell where many souls are receiving the same treatment, the demons will assure you each punishment is specially tailored to the soul. They take great pride in the care that goes into the soul’s time here.”

  I pause as I stand on my tiptoes and peek into the next cell. Not him. “Honestly, they devote just as much time to the souls here in hell as they do in heaven. The care is just… different.”

  “Different is one way to put it,” Horatia says as she checks the cell next to me.

  In the distance, I hear footsteps and a thunderous sound that can only be a pair of demons laughing. They’re coming straight for us. With nowhere to go, we each duck into our respective cells. After all, they’re not locked. It doesn’t seem like the best plan, but we’re out of options.

  After soundlessly shutting the door, I sink down to the floor just below the window. Should the demon look inside, I don’t want to be seen. I wish I could tell the others to do the same, but I can only hope they’re smart enough to stay hidden.

  The demons wander past the cells, dragging something along the doors, making a terribly loud banging noise. It’s that sound that draws the attention of the soul inside the cell I’ve snuck into.

  He locks eyes with me, and it’s obvious he knows I’m not a reflection. Somehow, he understands I don’t belong here. He pushes through the crowd of reflections, and they follow him, bringing their racket with them. Louder and louder and louder they come.

  Automatically, my hands rise to my ears, and I can no longer hear anything from outside. I have no idea where the demons are, let alone if they’ve moved on.

  “Please,” the soul pleads with me. He’s a businessman in appearance—middle aged and clean cut—except for his loosened tie and disheveled hair, which I can only assume are results of his imprisonment.

  I don’t respond to him, figuring it’s best not to engage. Risking a glance up at the window, I start to stand for a better view, but the very distinct smell of rotting flesh makes me sink slowly back down.

  “Hey,” the demon in the hallway shouts as he bangs on the door with some kind of object. “Keep it down in there. Get back away from the door.”

  “But there’s someone in here with me,” the spirit says, throwing caution to the wind.

  “Yes. There are a lot of people in there with you, I imagine. Get back away from the door,” he insists.

  Faintly, I can hear the other demon having a similar conversation at another cell. I can only hope the soul in there is cowed into silence.

  My heart pounds so loudly I fear it may give me away.

  The soul crouches down in front of me, and the ghosts pile on top of him, screaming their incessant demands. “Please. Show yourself to him. Maybe you can get us both out of here,” he shouts.

  The demon bangs on the door again, silencing the ghosts for just an instant. “Don’t make me come in there. Get away from the door.”

  The other demon joins him. I’m sunk, I think. They’re sure to find me in here. I try to come up with an excuse for why I’m inside, but I know my ideas are all thin… The best story I can think of is that I’m conducting some sort of inspection.

  The door swings inward, pushing me between it and the wall.

  “I’m not screwing around here, bub. Get away from the damned door,” the demon says. His partner must be leaning against the door, because it’s absolutely crushing me. I can barely take a breath, and suddenly, I’m glad I was crouching. At least I have more padding. I try to wiggle my arms up to cushion my head a bit better, but they’re totally pinned. After I catch a glimpse of the back of the demon’s partner, I freeze in place. It’s a Warden. Dressed in jeans and a freshly pressed button-down shirt, he looks oddly human in this world of monsters. But that’s the Warden’s appeal. They often buddy up with the souls inside these cells, giving them false hope—something that will only torture them more in the long run. The Wardens are managers of a sort. If this one finds me, I will never see the mists again. Forgiveness and second chances are not phrases that exist in hell.

  The soul inside the cell isn’t deterred by the Warden. The reflections have disappeared for the moment. He scoots away from the door, but he points right at me and looks me in the eye. I silently plead with him for discretion, but he ignores it. Or maybe he’s beyond understanding. “She’s there.”

  That single heartbeat drags on for an eternity. The trapped man sits, leaning back on one hand, his other hand extended toward me in an accusing gesture. The first demon towers over him, burned flesh hanging from his body, huge black wings extending from his back. If he turns and sees me, it’s over.

  Your fight isn’t over yet. I hear God’s words echoing in my mind. Don’t give up so easily, I chide myself. It’s not the end until you decide to stop fighting. I try to take a deep, cleansing breath, but it’s enough to remind me of my situation. I’m pinned behind the door, just inches from a demon. A short, silent gasp will have to do.

  “I think it’s time for a transfer,” the demon says as he looks over his right shoulder at his friend, the Warden. I freeze, hoping neither of them can see me. I feel like the fear coursing through me is a lighthouse drawing the demons’ red gaze, but I can’t seem to calm my pounding heart.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” the Warden agrees. He must have moved away from the door, because the pressure eases a little, revealing more of me. Together, they pull the man’s spirit from the cell. He fights them, giving me time to gather the bottom of my dress and cover myself in the darkness behind the door, using it as a makeshift shield to blend into the wall. Or that’s my hope, anyway

  I don’t risk peeking out at them. I’m completely wrapped in the skirt of my dress, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself by doing something as stupid as moving…or even breathing.

  I hold my breath as I listen to the nearby struggle. The two demons seem to be teasing the soul, laughing at his attempts to get away from them.

  “I don’t see anyone at all. Do you?” the Warden asks.

  This is it. The moment of truth. I can tell from the clarity of their voices that they’re facing me. The door isn’t concealing me at all anymore. It opened enough in my scramble that I’m totally exposed, save for the cover of my gown.

  “Nope. All I see is a damned fool,” the demon says.

  They laugh again as they open the door a little w
ider, slamming it against me, and carry the poor soul out of the cell. They close it behind them, thank God. The soul puts up quite a fight judging from the sound of the scuffle, and eventually, the demons get tired of it. I hear a thump, followed by the soul’s silence. His presence in the hall is now covered up by the incessant murmuring of voices coming from all sides of the hallway.

  “Finally,” the Warden says.

  “Aw, but I was having fun with him.”

  “I was getting tired of his struggling. He has no fear of us. That needs to be corrected immediately.” The dark tone of his voice makes me wince. I’ve caused this soul further pain, further torture.

  Their footsteps and voices fade as they carry the man down the hall away from us.

  I’m frozen by fear and left in total silence inside the cell. That’s twice in one day I’ve come close to losing my existence, and it’s more than I can take. The shaking sets in first. It becomes so violent that my gown cocoon falls away on its own accord. My breathing comes in short bursts, never fully filling my lungs. Panic sets in with the realization that I’m not getting enough air.

  My eyes dart around as the door to the cell slowly opens.

  I freeze, knowing this will be my end. I can take no more.

  “Michaela?” Penn whispers.

  But I am paralyzed. I can’t answer him. I can only watch him come into the cell, the girls trailing close behind him.

  “Michaela,” he says more urgently. It’s still a whisper, but it sounds more like an impatient hiss this time. He doesn’t see me yet, and his tone does nothing to spur me into movement. My friends walk further into the cell, letting the door close softly behind them. It’s dark without the light from the hallway, but they’re close enough to the window I can still see them, and if they turn around, they will see me.

  Galenia is the one who notices me first. She rushes over and crouches down beside me. “Penn.” It’s nothing more than an echo of a whisper to me. I register the concern in her eyes, but I’m struggling to comprehend it. It’s hard to care.

  Penn kneels in front of me and takes my face in his hands, while Galenia puts a comforting arm around me.

  “We thought you were gone,” Penn whispers.

  I can’t answer him. Maybe I am gone. I’ve lost control of myself. It’s as if I’m trapped in a frozen body.

  Noticing how shaken I am, he wraps his arms around me, and Galenia tightens her half embrace. Horatia stands guard by the door, glancing nervously between the outside and us.

  “Michaela, come back to me,” Penn whispers in my ear. “I feel like I’ve already lost so much to this place. I can’t lose you too. Come back to me.” It doesn’t help. I’m too far gone. And I’m starting to find comfort in this lack of being. I’m drifting. Their voices are too far away to reach me.

  Galenia’s expression turns grave, and she pushes Penn away from me. “Michaela. Remember the waterfalls on Earth.” It’s not a question; it’s a command. “The mountains. The rolling hills and the white sand beaches. Remember the look on a child’s face when you lead him or her into heaven.”

  Penn realizes what she’s doing and cuts in. “Remember the man you told me about. How much he loved his wife despite their differences. How they sat on that bench after a fight, and each reached out to the other.” It was something I’d shared with him when I brought him back to the heavens. I told him that story of hope after he asked me which of my experiences as a Reaper had moved me most. Although that couple’s relationship wasn’t perfect, far from it in fact, they never let go of hope, and so they always held on to each other.

  Galenia smiled. “Remember the good.” I notice her voice isn’t echoing anymore. It’s just above a whisper, but it’s crystal clear.

  The shaking slowly stops, and I take a deep breath and blink a few times, as if seeing my friends through new eyes. “We need to find Webber, free Kismet and the others, and get the heck out of here,” I say. “I’m sick of this place.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Penn says, taking my arm and helping me up. I’m still a bit wobbly on my feet, but at least we’re all here. At least we can move forward again.

  Galenia holds onto one of my hands as we walk down the hallway, as if she’s worried I’ll succumb to panic again and be lost to them forever. I squeeze her hand, letting her know how much I appreciate her support.

  The hallway ends and we are forced to choose, left or right. Or, more accurately, right or wrong. Or perhaps wrong or wrong if we’re not even in the right part of hell. I have no idea where Webber could be at this point. So our choice is no more educated than if we were to flip a coin and let, well, fate decide.

  “What do you think?” Penn asks.

  It’s then that I spot something lying off to the side of the hall. Curious, I release Galenia’s hand and go to it. “It’s a shoe,” I declare. But not just any shoe. It’s the black dress shoe of a male Reaper.

  “Webber,” I breathe, not wanting to scare away the hope that this single shoe has given me.

  12

  We follow the corridor until new doors appear. They’re the same as the doors from the previous chambers—ancient splintered wood embedded with small, barred windows.

  After glancing back and forth, searching for an errant demon, I glance inside the window of the first door. The man inside is surrounded by piles and piles of food—decadent sweets, luxurious cuts of steak, broiled lobsters, everything a foodie could possibly want. But he sits in a corner, crying as the food continues to appear in front of him. If he shifts by a matter of inches, more food piles up around him. The odor from the piles and piles of food pours out into the hall. The scents don’t complement each other very well, so the stench makes me wrinkle my nose. Fresh-cooked fish and the sweet smell of homemade waffle cones. It must be overwhelming inside.

  “Did that man have an eating disorder?” Galenia asks as she looks over my shoulder.

  I shrug as we move to the next cell. This soul is surrounded by gorgeous women of all shapes, colors, and sizes. They’re all demanding attention from him, but he’s crying and trying to get away from them. They follow him when he retreats to the corner of the room, pawing at him as he goes. Some of them start taking off their clothes and brushing their bare skin against him. It makes him run to another corner. But with only four corners in his room, the cycle quickly starts again.

  “Was he a hermit? Why are there only women? I don’t understand this area, Michaela. What’s happening to these souls?” Galenia asks as we walk on to the next cell.

  Penn turns sober. “I read about this when I was sneaking around as a Keeper. This is where people who lusted after others’ things finally get what they wanted. But it doesn’t make them happy, and it never will. The food isn’t to their taste. Or those who have money in their cells…” He nods toward the next cell. The woman inside is sitting on a pile of gold—gold bars, goblets, plates, coins. The room looks like Scrooge McDuck’s vault. But she’s just sitting there with a dazed look on her face. “Gold is worthless in hell. She finally has what she wanted, what she lusted after her whole life, and now she can’t do a single thing with it.” I can hear the sadness in his voice as we keep walking.

  The corridor is long, and there’s a prisoner in each cell. As we near the end, I start to lose some of the excitement I felt upon finding that shoe. “If we don’t find him, we need to consider what we want to do.”

  “You mean leave him here again?” Galenia asks, clearly opposed to the suggestion.

  “We have to get out before the demons’ workday starts, or we’ll be trapped here right along with him.”

  Her frown tells me what she thinks of that, and Penn adds, “We’re not leaving here without Kismet again.”

  “Penn, we may not have a choice. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in here. By the time we make our way back to the gate, we may be out of time.”

  Horatia, whose function as a Fate is, after all, to count off the days owed to each new soul, comes to my rescu
e. “We have time, Michaela. I will tell you when we need to go back. For now, we have time.”

  I nod. Although I don’t fully understand how she can keep track of the passage of minutes and hours in hell, I trust her all the same.

  “I found him,” Galenia says as she stands outside a cell a few doors up. The phrase cuts to my very core, and I’m torn between excitement and dread. What have they done to him?

  We gather quickly around the window. The man inside the cell sits near a mound of wool. He’s trying to make fabric or something out of it, but it’s designed to be an impossible task. A spinning wheel sits off in the corner, but he can’t seem to successfully get a handful of the wool. When he finally does, he pricks his finger on the needle several times while trying to get it onto the machine. He kicks the wheel over, throws the wool, spits on it, and then starts over, because he has nothing else to do. We watch him cycle through these actions several times, entranced by his torture.

  Finally, he screams… and it snaps us all out of our trance.

  “Webber,” I whisper. “We’re here for you.”

  13

  “They know who he is,” Penn says as we stand outside the door watching him work the wool.

  “No. They can’t,” I say. “Knowingly trapping a Reaper is one thing, but a Fate? They wouldn’t cross that line.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true, no matter how badly I want to believe them. The demons do what they want inside these walls. As far as they’re concerned, anyone stupid enough to wander into their lair deserves what they get.

  This punishment—Webber working the wool, trying to make something—is clearly intended to mock him. But do they really know who he is, or are they simply trying to humiliate him to teach him the respect they think he needs?