Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  “How you ended up in Hell seems a topic of great debate.”

  The lady snorted. “You don't have to tell me. I'm not sure where Eselt got the notion I'm not damned like the rest of you.”

  Arimand had an inkling. “You don't believe you've been misplaced?”

  “What kind of arrogance would I have to possess to believe I alone, among countless souls, reached the wrong destination? We are in the outskirts of Hell. There are children here. No one tries to argue about their level of damnation.”

  “Dwenba says-”

  “If there were more like me we'd be barely damned. I know. She's tried to convince me many times. Even if I was somehow missorted, Arimand, what could be done about it?”

  She wasn't what he expected. He expected a pouty young woman to lay a tragedy at his feet. He expected her to bemoan her fate, to feel entitled to the grace Eselt granted her. This was no haughty noble. She was clever, practical and humble. She spoke with calm acceptance. It knocked him off guard.

  He opened his mouth to respond and hesitated. Had Eselt told Kaylie he was looking for an exit? It might be best if Arimand avoided the subject.

  “If the old gods don't intervene, nothing, I suppose.”

  “Haven't the old gods abandoned the mortal realm?”

  Arimand couldn't help but smile. There was no humor in it. “To the west, in Nywor, they still cling to faith. Since the beginning of the war, they've predicted the old gods would eventually descend and lead them to victory.”

  “Sounds foolish to me.”

  “I agree. If any place was going to convince me to believe in the old gods, it would be Corvala. The empires have never dared invade it. Historically, they believed a divine curse would befall whoever struck the heartland. Though I suppose recent events have effectively disproved it.”

  “Is that what convinced you I come from there?” Kaylie interrupted. “Only innocents inhabit Corvala?”

  “It is said to be the most righteous place on the mortal plane, but it was the features of your face that made me think of Corvala.” Arimand grinned. “And the cut of your dress.”

  She relaxed. “Isn't invading Corvala the point of the war?”

  “That depends on who you ask. Dark magic invaded Corvala. We know that for sure. Crops withered in the fields. Whole villages took ill for no apparent reason. All of everyone's worst fears ran rampant: plague, poisoned wells, crazed herds.”

  Sorrow darkened Kaylie's eyes. “Who would do such a wretched thing?”

  Arimand spread his palms outward. “When news reached the empires, they all declared war on each other. Each emperor boasted he would end the attack on Corvala and bring their attacker to justice in return for all the years Corvala has spent mediating their many conflicts. But the dark assault seems to have lifted on its own, and the war kept right on going.”

  “But why?”

  “Everyone wants credit for saving the holiest of lands. Perhaps because whoever claims the distinction will get to rule it going forward. Or perhaps they believe it will win them the favor of the old gods. Who can say? What matters is that Corvala is on the mend, my lady, you can rest assured of that.”

  “It seems crass to take comfort from anything while men die by the hundreds on the battlefield.”

  Arimand didn't know how to respond. He had sacrificed his life to the cause, and he wasn't sure now it had been the right choice. After a brief silence, he said, “If you were a victim of that dark magic, it might explain why you can't remember anything. Hell seems to have an only what you had policy. If you lost your memories before you died, you might not be able to get them back.”

  “Could that be how I landed in Hell? Perhaps there's no way to judge my intentions if I can't recall them.”

  She had a powerful presence. The fire in her eyes almost seemed to surround her. Arimand doubted anyone in Hell, save perhaps its king, could boast similar. “You really find no merit in Eselt and Dwenba's assertions?”

  “Just because my memory begins with stumbling off the riverboat into the middle of Eselt's camp doesn't absolve me of whatever actions I took in life. If I was caught by that dark magic, who knows what I might have done. Desperate people do all kinds of things, or so I've been told.”

  “That has been my experience. But something about your situation strikes wrong. A large part of Hell's punishment seems to center around regret. I know I've come to regret the actions that led me here.” He didn't regret going to war, but there were some orders he should have protested. Would he have been equally damned for disobedience if the orders were immoral?

  “How does that explain children damned for the circumstances of their birth?” Kaylie protested.

  “I don't know,” he admitted. “I never expected to find children in Hell.” He tilted his head to one side. “How many times have you had this argument?”

  “Not enough, it would seem.” Kaylie drew a deep breath and released it as a sigh. “I'm sorry. You're a kind man, Arimand. So is Eselt. And Dwenba is an absolute dear. I know you all mean well, I just hate being penned up in this tent all day.”

  “Why do you stay? I can't imagine Eselt forcing you to do anything.”

  Kaylie laughed, a sound like ringing bells. “I've tried everything. The trouble is, everyone's so steadfastly loyal to Eselt, they won't let me do anything no matter how hard I try. Dwenba slips me mending sometimes, but Hell's days last ages with nothing to occupy you. Besides, I've seen the state of affairs here. I would much prefer to contribute, rather than drain the clan of resources.”

  That surprised him most of all. Every woman in the clan, aside from Dwenba, spoke with envy of Kaylie's favored position. Was he reading too much into simple boredom?

  “The mending is important, even if it seems insignificant.”

  Arimand turned the conversation back to Corvala then, detailing what little he knew of its recovery. The country was in such disarray, not much news escaped its borders. When Kaylie ran out of questions, Arimand glanced toward the door. “I'd like to tell you more about the days before the blight, but it's getting late.” How long did he have before Eselt burst in and dragged him out by the ear?

  Kaylie folded her hands in her lap. “You've been most gracious, Arimand, I thank you. Men like you are proof that there's good in the heart of every soul.”

  Arimand rocked backwards, lost his balance and shot to his feet before he smashed through the cot. “It was nothing, my lady. It's more likely Eselt is particular about who he allows into his clan.”

  “Of course, because he sees the good in those he chooses.”

  “And what about the souls he turns away?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps they simply aren't ready to abandon their vices.”

  Arimand's mind reeled. The afterlife had brought him nothing but pain, misery, despair and regret. They weighed him every day, cut him and goaded him. Even without the hard labor, Kaylie experienced the hunger, heat and chill that characterized the badlands. How did she remain focused on the good?

  Noticing her expectant glance, Arimand stammered, “I hope you sleep well.”

  Kaylie smiled. “And you.”

  In a daze, Arimand fumbled for the tent flap. A hand lifted it from the other side, and Arimand hurried through. Eselt waited outside with a smug half-grin on his face. He lowered the flap back into place and led Arimand away from the crowd by the fire.

  “Now that you've met her, what do you believe?”

  Arimand glanced over his shoulder, toward the tent. The world was full of strange things. Things he'd never be able to explain. An innocent soul mistakenly relegated to Hell made no sense. Yet the damned were marked by their guilt, haunted by it, and the light that clung to Kaylie must mean something.

  “That woman does not belong in Hell.”

  Triumph blazed in Eselt's eyes. “Then you understand why I must do everything to set her free.”

  “I do. And I promise I will do whatever is within my power to help you succeed.”

/>   ~*~*~*~

  As Kaylie unfolded the patched blanket atop her cot, a scraping sound made her jump. Heart in her throat, she spun to find Eselt shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “I thought you had retired by now.” She laid a hand over her heart, willing it to calm. “Arimand said it was late.”

  “It is.” Clasping his hands in front of his chest, the clan leader wove his thumbs around each other. He never looked this nervous when she glimpsed him through the crack between tent flaps.

  “Please sit down.” Kaylie waved to the battered armchair.

  Eselt shook his head. “I don't mean to stay, my lady. I-”

  “Kaylie,” she corrected gently. “There are no titles in Hell, remember?”

  Eselt quirked his lips as though he were about to protest but thought better of it. “I just wanted to ask how things went with Arimand.”

  “He was a perfect gentleman. He thinks the dark magic plaguing Corvala may have had something to do with my memory loss.”

  “Did his descriptions help you recall something?”

  Kaylie shook her head. “I think I need time to contemplate all of it. He suggested we speak more later. Perhaps a steady stream of information will do the trick.”

  Eselt grunted softly. His expression was difficult to read. “So you would like to speak with him again?”

  “I don't see why not. I can't possibly hear all he has to say in a single night. Confusion isn't going to help me unravel my past.”

  “Very well,” Eselt rumbled. She wasn't certain he approved. “I won't trouble you further, my lady. Try to get some rest.” He slipped outside before she could correct him again.

  Clicking her tongue softly, Kaylie crawled beneath the covers. She had snuffed all but one of the lanterns, dimming the small space. The warm glow of the remaining flame reassured her. Without that light, the darkness seeped beneath her eyelids, inducing visionless nightmares filled with threatening voices.

  As she nestled into her blanket, forming a warm cocoon, she tried not to wonder too much about her life before Hell. Though she spent most of her time alone, the clan was like her family. She enjoyed the time she spent with the children, telling stories and playing games. She nurtured a sense of camaraderie with the women by sharing conversations over the sewing while the men went out to hunt. She was especially close to Dwenba, who matched what few impressions she could recall of her mother.

  If something ever happened to Eselt, Kaylie didn't doubt Dwenba would take his place. Kaylie had never met a more fierce soul. Dwenba wouldn't need to muscle the men into submission; the crack of her tongue would keep them in line. Dwenba was ready at a moment's notice with a heap of advice for anyone in need of guidance. In many ways, she was like a mother for the whole clan.

  If Dwenba was the clan's mother, Eselt was their father. Kaylie wasn't sure what quality compelled his followers to devote such loyalty. Eselt was a man of few words and fewer social graces. But she saw evidence of the camp's devotion every day. They deferred to Eselt, went out of their way to impress him and glowed beneath the slightest praise. Perhaps they knew Eselt would fight for them; she had glimpsed the clan leader resolving conflicts through the small gap in her tent's canvas. Despite his small stature, he was swift and strong.

  He filled some of her earliest memories. When she stumbled from the riverboat, he stood nearby. His words had been gentle as he hauled her to her feet and led her to his camp, using his low shoulders to support her.

  She hadn't even realized she was dead. How could Hell ever hope to torment her if she couldn't remember living any other way? For all she knew, the mortal world was as harsh and unforgiving as the badlands.

  Perhaps she did seem innocent to the members of Clan Vorilia, but she didn't think it came from any virtue still contained within her soul. She had no references by which to make comparisons. Eselt was the first to suggest she had been highborn, but Kaylie only understood the connotation from an academic point of view. She seemed to retain basic concepts, though she couldn't recall her education. While her clothing made it unlikely she had ever stolen food to survive, she could just as easily have broken wedding vows or taken retribution against an unfaithful lover. Had her family fallen on hard times? Been swept up in the war?

  She focused on the time before Eselt, before the riverbank and the eerie boatman. Through the white haze that filled her mind, she caught fleeting glimpses of her mother and father. Warm faces, friendly smiles, encouraging murmurs. She recalled a high stone wall. Perched in the branches of a nearby tree, she could peer over the barrier into the rolling fields beyond. But she had no context in which to place these objects, nor could she say what happened to any of them. Were her parents still alive? Had the fields withered to blight?

  She couldn't remember. The white haze choked her mind, silently mocking her efforts. Exhaustion, coupled with the warmth of her bed, made it increasingly difficult to stave off oblivion.

  As she released her hold on consciousness, the first dream tendrils touched her, carrying voices. Not nightmare voices; the light kept those at bay. From the mad frenzy of murmurs, she discerned music. The chorus formed a familiar refrain, but she couldn't distinguish the words. The singers seemed to call to her, beckoning her toward some half-remembered event. She tried to move toward them, hoping the voices could offer answers but, as she sank deeper into sleep, the music faded.

  Arimand returned the next day to share his evening meal with her. He seemed more relaxed in her presence than Eselt ever was. He reclined on her cot, savoring his portion of stew while they spoke. He couldn't have been dead long; a light still reached his eyes when he smiled. They were dark, almost black in shadow, but in the light Arimand's eyes were a soft, warm grey. He still maintained his disciplined appearance, though Kaylie couldn't fathom how he shaved without a proper mirror or razor. He wore his long, black hair in a braid. He moved with a fluid grace Kaylie had never associated with soldiers. He didn't bear many marks of war, though perhaps his armor concealed his scars.

  He answered her questions about Corvala with the fastidious nature of a scholar, admitting when something stood outside his knowledge. For someone who had never visited, he knew a great deal about their culture and architecture. Though many of Corvala's traditions did seem to blend those from other empires — not surprising when one considered how much time they spent hosting outside delegations.

  When she pressed him to reveal how he carried so many intricate details of Corvala's recent history, Arimand would say only that he had once been apprenticed to the local mage. Since his task had involved transcribing correspondence, his literacy had to be top notch. He claimed to have been tested on the details of every history book his master possessed, which was why he recalled so many otherwise useless facts, as he put it. Like the rest of the men who inhabited Hell, he seemed reluctant to say much else about his life, and Kaylie tried her best not to pry.

  Arimand's detailed descriptions allowed her to envision much of what he described, but she was forced to admit it was her imagination that provided the insight.

  “Don't despair,” Arimand reassured as the conversation drew to a close. “I haven't exhausted my knowledge, nor my resources. If there is a way to unlock your memories, we'll find it.”

  She smiled. “Patience must not be a gift I possessed in life.”

  “Hell makes us all wait.” Arimand hesitated, glancing toward the exit before meeting her gaze. “I've spoken with Eselt. Do you know his intentions?”

  Kaylie sighed, and her smile thinned. “I can guess. You might be surprised how much I overhear.”

  “I can't help wondering… What would you do if you could escape? Even if you don't share Eselt's optimism, it must make you wonder.”

  “Everything makes me wonder.”

  “And if someone did bring news of an exit?”

  “Does it matter? Given the nature of Hell, any such door would be impossible to reach. Who would take the risk?”

  “I don't kn
ow.” Arimand scratched his chin. “You might be surprised how many people are willing to undertake an insane journey for the right cause. Just look at the war above.”

  Kaylie chuckled. “If you're going to put it that way, who wouldn't want an opportunity to escape Hell?”

  Arimand bowed his head. “Forgive my tired rambling, my lady. I believe it's time to seek my bed.”

  She nodded and opened her mouth to chide his use of her title, but he had already gone.

  Clicking her tongue softly, Kaylie snuffed all but one lantern and climbed beneath her worn blanket. She tried to repeat the prior night's thought exercises, but her mind wandered back to her dinner companion. Arimand's keen insight allowed him to perceive what lurked beneath the surface of every interaction. Under different circumstances, it would have made him a fine diplomat.

  Her thoughts drifted further, and her eyelids drooped. The voices returned with sleep's familiar embrace. Something urgent tried to muffle the music. Warning or threat, she couldn't tell.

  Her dreams that night were vivid. She traversed a grand garden maze, entranced by its beautiful blossoms even as she despaired escaping its high, green walls. At the end, or perhaps the center, lay a grand cathedral built from obsidian and black-stained wood. She stepped through the door into a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Beyond a long table, set for a feast, stood an altar made from a dark marble slab. Sunlight spilled through great stained glass windows, each panel filled with a different shade of red.

  She crossed the blood-lit path to the altar. It seemed to take a long time. A red velvet cloth covered the pedestal, atop which sat a jewel-encrusted, golden chalice. Water rippled inside the vessel as she lifted it with trembling hands. Her reflection blinked back at her just before she tilted the cup toward her lips.

  The voices screeched, growing louder as the cacophony reached a fever pitch. Just when she thought the noise would split her skull, a hand grasped her shoulder. Spinning, she found herself among the vast green hills of her homeland, beyond the stone wall that lived in her memory.