by Megan Cutler
Arimand stood across from her, smiling.
From that moment on, every time a shadow or voice tried to creep back into focus, Arimand's face chased them away.
Chapter Five: The Way from Hell
Arimand shifted his weight from foot to foot as he took inventory of the last crate. Dwenba, who kept meticulous records, wanted to make certain none of their supplies had walked off during the long days spent at port. It was tedious work, but less demanding than other tasks. Dwenba had requested him. She seemed to be growing as fond of him as he was of her.
But his mind was elsewhere as he sealed the crate, and he barely missed bashing his thumb with the hammer. Eselt intended to break camp tomorrow morning, just after dawn. Arimand didn't know where they would go, but it hardly mattered. Eselt said the key to every clan's success was constant movement.
Though Arimand had no attachment to the dilapidated village, he wished they could stay one more day. The lighter workload afforded him time to think.
He glanced at the sky before lifting the crate onto the rickety cart that would carry it come morning. Inky black clouds concealed the sun's position, but growing familiarity with Hell's day-night cycle warned him night would fall soon. He had to make a decision and live with the consequences.
The camp swelled as clan members returned from their last day among the port's merchant stalls. They branished their latest acquisitions and bragged about the services they purchased, but Arimand sat in silence until it was time to light the fires. No amount of spinning the issue through his head would eliminate the risk.
Eselt no longer batted an eye when Arimand asked to eat with Kaylie, though their efforts had yet to bear fruit. It would help if he could describe the landscape and architecture from personal experience. He had only the descriptions of books and travelers to offer, and he couldn't be certain of their accuracy. He had exhausted his resources for culture and traditions; today, he planned to discuss religion.
As usual, he perched on the lady's bed, careful not to spill while he sipped stew from his bowl. It was difficult to keep still. His legs itched to pace. Several times Kaylie glanced in his direction and seemed to bite her tongue.
During a lull in the conversation, the lady set her empty bowl aside. “Are you all right?”
Arimand froze. “As far as I'm aware. Why?”
Her smile didn't ease the flutter of his stomach. “You look ready to bolt at any moment.”
His ears burned. He should know better than to dwell on decisions like this. “I have a lot on my mind. I suppose I let it carry me away.”
Concern flitted through her emerald eyes. “Have you found a clan that's offered you more?”
Arimand lurched sideways, nearly spilling the last of his stew. “Does that happen often?”
“I'm not sure. I've heard the others talk about it.”
He considered this while he licked an errant drop of broth from his bowl. “I don't think I'd find a better leader than Eselt.”
Kaylie seemed to melt back into her chair. “Then what troubles you so?”
He hesitated. Say it. “You'll think it's silly.”
“You don't seem the silly sort, Arimand.”
“I've been thinking about your answer to my question. The one about escaping Hell if you had the chance.”
“I'm sorry if my reaction bothered you. I didn't mean to make you think I don't take you seriously.”
Arimand mustered a reassuring smile. “I understand your reaction. But it was never meant as a joke. I do wonder what you would do if Eselt ever found an escape route.”
“It isn't as if I could reach such a doorway, even with Eselt's help. Hell's horrors aside, I don't think the King of Hell would allow any soul to escape his grasp.”
“No, I don't suppose he'd be pleased. Even so, wouldn't you want to make an attempt?”
Kaylie opened her mouth, hesitated and closed it again. Her green eyes searched his, perhaps seeking the intent behind his words. “Why is this so important to you?”
“Answer my question, and I'll answer yours.”
“I suppose if I knew, beyond doubt, there was a way out of Hell, and I could prove my presence here was no mistake, I would want to try. I'd be a fool otherwise.”
Arimand's heart skipped a beat. He drew a deep breath to replace all the air rushing from his lungs. “There is a way. But it lies somewhere in Hell's fourth circle. If you could get to it, you'd drift up to Heav-”
“Wait,” Kaylie wailed, holding up both hands. “What are you talking about? You can't just assume I'm not damned!”
It was hard to ignore the mad hammering of his heart in his chest. Arimand couldn't unspeak this revelation. He only hoped Kaylie's distress didn't summon Eselt prematurely. “I understand your convictions, my lady, but I didn't reach this conclusion lightly. We damned are sullen creatures, willing to blame our circumstances on anyone but ourselves. I blame my superiors for sending me on the missions that tainted my soul. I'd like to believe I had no choice but to obey them. There are plenty of unrepentant thieves and disloyal lovers in our camp, many of whom justify their actions. Yet you, who cannot remember a potential crime, are willing to accept it must have occurred.”
“But there are children in Hell-”
“And they remember. Have you seen any babies? None of the children here are younger than seven or eight, old enough to at least have a basic grasp of right and wrong.”
“So you think knowledge plays a role in damnation?”
“I don't think a soul can experience guilt or regret if it doesn't understand morality, but that's only a fragment of my reasoning. There is a quality about you, Lady Kaylie, one that's difficult to articulate. Light clings to you, a sort of vitality the rest of us have lost. It isn't just your hope and optimism, it's the brightness in your eyes, the lightness in your steps. These things mark you as an outsider.”
Kaylie straightened. The color drained from her face. She closed her fingers around the arms of her battered chair, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. She looked as though she were about to revisit dinner in the opposite direction.
“Could the king of Hell steal a soul?” Her voice was tight, forced through her clenched teeth.
Arimand shivered. “What makes you ask?”
Kaylie peeled herself from the chair and began to pace. “It only just occurred to me. It was something I dreamed. Something I've been dreaming.”
Arimand held out a hand to catch her as she passed. “I haven't dreamed since my arrival in Hell. At first I thought it had to do with exhaustion, but I'm starting to wonder if the damned dream at all.”
His words, rather than his hand, gave her pause. “I dream every night,” she admitted, biting the edge of her lip. “They started as nightmares. Terrible, howling voices in the dark, as if something were chasing me. Now I hear singing and strange things. And there's a black cathedral with blood-red windows and an obsidian altar.”
“I've never heard of such a church. Do you recall any holy symbols?”
Kaylie shook her head and wrung her hands. “Could my dreams be memories?” Her voice shook. “There's always a chalice. A golden, jeweled chalice that I drink from.”
“It seems plausible.” Arimand slid to his feet. Crossing the distance between them, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “My lady, I only speak of the exit because I believe your situation warrants the discussion. Something has gone terribly wrong, and you agreed the risk was worthwhile.”
“It's different when the question is hypothetical!”
“It has never been hypothetical to me.” Arimand took both her hands between his. “To undertake this journey, we require supplies that can only be acquired from a port village. I have been at war with myself all day, knowing if I didn't speak, it may be months before this chance came again. I believe setting you free of an undeserved fate is worth any risk, even if it wouldn't bring me redemption.”
Twisting her palms in his, Kaylie squeezed his hands. “I find it hard
to imagine anyone would share your convictions, but I suppose we will soon have an answer.” Withdrawing her hands from his, she crossed the length of the tent and slid the flap aside.
Arimand lifted one hand, protest dying on his lips. She had already called for the clan leader. If he tried to stop her, the guards would assume the worst. He let his arm fall to his side, steeling himself for an oncoming storm.
Eselt narrowed his eyes as he crossed the threshold. “What's wrong?” he demanded, placing himself between the woman and the soldier.
Kaylie ignored the hand he raised to block her. Circling the squat clan leader, she returned to her chair. “Nothing's wrong. I thought you should be included in this conversation. Arimand believes he can lead me out of Hell.”
Despite his bulk, the clan leader crossed the tent before Arimand could blink. His hands closed around the collar of Arimand's shirt. It didn't occur to him to resist the draw against the fabric as Eselt forced him to his knees.
“I asked if you knew a way,” Eselt roared as his hands closed around Arimand's throat. “You told me no!”
Arimand wheezed and gurgled as air abandoned his lungs. If Hell had offered him nightmares, they would have featured the fire now burning in his chest. A light-headed, drunken sensation pervaded his consciousness as he steadfastly failed to breathe. He expected his vision to narrow, expected blackness to close around him, but it didn't. The flames spread, searing the rest of his body. His arms jerked unsteadily as he clawed at the hands crushing his windpipe.
“I warned you,” Eselt growled, lips close to his captive's ear. “Did you think earning my trust would spare you my wrath?”
Arimand opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't produce any sound. Death would not grant him escape. If Eselt strung him up, he would go on suffocating forever.
“What are you doing?” Kaylie's frantic cry sounded distant. “Eselt, let him go!” A stronger set of fingers joined Arimand's feeble struggle. Sharp nails bit the flesh of his neck as they tried to peel aside the vice-like fists.
Too weak to offer resistance, Arimand's body trembled while the two of them grappled. He felt like a ragdoll caught in a windstorm.
He didn't realize Eselt released his grip until the ground slammed into his face. He lay where he fell, gasping to catch his breath. Though a numbing sensation quenched the flames, it didn't restore his mobility.
The argument continued without him. Kaylie tried to muffle Eselt's steady protests by pitching her voice ever higher.
“…raving about! Arimand hasn't lied. He's convinc -”
“I'm trying to explain, my lady, please calm down!”
“No, I won't calm down when you've just acted like a… a… barbarian!”
“But he did lie to you, Lady Kaylie. I asked him already if he knew about an exit, before he ever came to speak to you. Over and over he told me no.”
Sudden silence rang in his ears. Kaylie's shoes scraped the stone as she turned toward Arimand. He shifted, rubbing his forehead as he glanced up at her. Betrayal clouded her vivid eyes.
Arimand pushed himself to his knees. “I didn't lie, my lady,” he rasped. The words grated his raw throat until a coughing fit overwhelmed him.
Eselt loomed over his shoulders, hands on his hips, eyes flashing fire. “Get out, you damned bastard. If you go quickly, I won't send my men after you with spears.”
“Damn it, you stubborn… I lied to you! Don't you remember what I said? This knowledge is dangerous. I didn't think you'd believe me and I had to be sure.”
“About what?” Eselt growled.
“That she was what you said she was. And that she wanted to go.”
The clan leader glanced between the two of them. Kaylie stood with her jaw clamped closed and her hands clenched at her sides. Arimand coughed again and pulled himself to his feet.
“Speak fast,” Eselt commanded, his voice low and sinister.
“A few months back, my unit got caught between an ambush and a rockslide. After the battle, we pulled the dead from the rubble in hopes of sending them home. Thankfully, our luck changed and we got the respite we needed.”
“I don't see what this has to do with anything,” Eselt interrupted.
“You will. One of the soldiers we pulled from the wreckage was young. Couldn't have seen more than seventeen summers. I remember him vividly, my certainty that he was dead and the fact that the rocks hadn't crushed him.
“It took a month, but we gathered to pay tribute with as many of the families as could come. They asked me to light the funeral pyre for the kid I pulled from the rubble. All the bodies were covered. The embalmers had treated them, of course, but they can only do so much.
“Just as the flames began to lick the edge of the pyre, that young man gasped and shot bolt upright. He tore off the embalming cloth and looked around like the hounds of hell were set to pounce. I nearly burned him to death and all I could do was stare at him slack-jawed, unable to comprehend why his body was as pristine as the day I pulled it from the rocks.
“The Healers swept in and bore him off to their temple. They told us later that he was a mage, that his magic awakened in his moment of greatest peril and kept him alive. He must have taken a blow to his head before it activated and shielded him from the rest of the rocks. They claimed it put him into a trance like death in order to heal his body. It happens sometimes. I read tales about it later. We all accepted the explanation when they swept him off to mage training.”
Eselt opened his mouth to protest again, but Arimand didn't give him a chance.
“He told me something else. Several weeks later, when he returned to active duty, we shared the dogwatch on a rainy night. While we huddled close for warmth, enduring the long, miserable hours, he said he had to tell someone before it drove him mad.
“What he told me was insane. I shouldn't have believed him. Maybe I didn't until now. He described a frantic flight through Hell and, now that I see this place, I know he spoke true. The first leg of his journey took him through these dead lands. He described what lay beyond and how he handled each obstacle.
“If it had taken him one day longer, he would have been doomed. He wouldn't have had a body to return to.” Arimand's eyes bore into Eselt's. “I remember every word he said. I can retrace his path to the exit.”
Silence returned, a heavy blanket that lay across their shoulders until Eselt spoke again. “Can this story be confirmed?”
“Is that really necessary?” Kaylie protested.
Arimand held up a hand to forestall further argument. “Imperative, I'm afraid. The path through Hell, to my knowledge, he shared with no one else. But the story of his miraculous rebirth would be known to any man who served in my company at the time. I can give you the dates and details.”
“Very well,” Eselt rumbled. “You can stay until my messengers return. If they can repeat your story without prompts, we'll have a lot to discuss. If, on the other hand, your deceit is proven…”
Hell's horrors will find you, Arimand finished silently, nodding to show he understood.
~*~*~*~
The predawn hours greeted Arimand with a kick to the ribs. By breakfast, he was exhausted. Eselt barely gave him a chance to eat his minuscule strip of meat before driving him back to work. The clan leader assigned him every backbreaking task, even forcing him to re-do work finished the day before.
While he toiled on the edge of camp, Arimand watched Eselt summon his trusted lieutenants for a conference. They were loyal enough not to ask many questions, and their leader was clever enough to offer only the pertinent details.
There had to be a man out there who remembered. The incident had been a bright moment in the midst of dark times. The war had been going poorly for Onroth in those days, and hope shone brightest when it rose from a pile of corpses.
The question, for Arimand, was not a matter of truth. It was whether or not Eselt could find someone who knew it. Plenty of the men he served with were dead. But Hell was vast and Arimand didn't k
now where his fellows had been assigned.
Eselt's messengers departed. Half split along the near side of the river to question the clans camped on the borders of Blalt. The rest crossed the river to do the same on the borders of Schan. How long their clan leader would wait, and how far the messengers would travel before they gave up, Arimand couldn't guess.
By dinner, he was so exhausted he could barely hold his head up. He slunk back to his tent the moment he finished eating, knowing morning would come early.
The second day was much the same. Arimand's sore muscles screamed in protest, but Eselt barely gave him time to breathe. On the third day, he contemplated hiding until the messengers returned. No doubt Eselt would view his disappearance as proof of his guilt, and he imagined the man would hunt him even if he fled to the edge of Hell's second ring. He endured.
That evening, Eselt summoned him to the center of camp. He could barely stand, but he doubted Eselt would allow him to sit. The gathering consisted of the clan leader, those of his lieutenants who had returned, and a stranger. He wore familiar armor, though it was tattered and cracked. His hair and beard clung to his face like patches of rust, and his eyes never ceased to dart in all directions. He had a haunted, hunted look, as though he expected the meeting to turn into an ambush.
“This is Thail,” Sulard announced when everyone had arrived. “He matches the circumstances you described: served in Onroth, died after the war's fifth month, and was present in Emden at the time of the rockslide.” He ticked each off each detail on his hand as he said it.
“That man,” Eselt jabbed a finger in Arimand's direction. “Do you recognize him?”
Their eyes met. While Thail's gaze remained stationary, some half-forgotten terror seemed to rise from the depths of his consciousness. Then his eyes resumed their wandering and he shook his head.
“You don't recognize your former commander?” Eselt roared.
Thail shivered like a tree in a thunderstorm. “M..my commander? I… I served under Lerissmos.”
Eselt spun on Arimand as if he had the power to unleash a whirlwind.