by Megan Cutler
With Sulard and Kimuli on hunting duty, the day-to-day management of the camp fell to Wardel. Arimand didn't think he'd ever heard the man speak so much. He looked something like a specter, with long white hair and snow-white cheeks. Even if he hadn't borne faded clan tattoos, it would have been obvious he hailed from Vesald. His calm demeanor had a soothing effect. It was almost a relief to get a break from Eselt.
On the third morning, Wardel asked if Arimand would take his place for a couple hours, expressing a desire to peruse the dockyards and observe the river traffic. “I spent my life in the wild mountains,” he explained, “farther north than even most Vesladi dare to venture. I took advantage of every spring thaw to fish while the waters flowed freely. The nearest village was miles away, so it fell to me to build and maintain my own boats.”
No wonder he was such a solitary creature! “I'm not sure if Eselt will approve of your choice to leave me in charge, but I'm sure he won't want to wait any longer than necessary to leave. You sound uniquely suited to solving our travel problems.”
A ghost of mirth graced Wardel's face. “I'm keen to see how the locals have managed the challenge. That should be a good place to start. I plan to take Thail with me, if you don't mind.”
Arimand quirked an eyebrow. What did Wardel want with that nervous wretch? “You're the one in charge. If you think he'll be useful, take him along.” It wasn't as if he was particularly useful around camp; he was too shy to give orders and too nervous to handle most tasks alone. Arimand still didn't know what Eselt wanted with him.
Wardel only nodded and excused himself, calling softly to Thail as he passed out of the camp's inner circle. Arimand organized the rest of the camp's duties for the day. It wasn't much different from running an army camp, and Eselt's men exhibited a similar level of discipline.
Barely an hour passed before Wardel and his companion returned. Arimand double-checked the position of the sun to be sure. “Forget something?” he called as the pair approached.
Wardel shook his head, a slow, heavy movement which told Arimand all he needed to know. “Lingering by the docks would be a waste of time. The local boats, and I hesitate to call them that, are useless to us.”
Arimand looked for Thail to see if the newcomer shared this opinion. His eyes peeked over the tall northerner's shoulder. When Arimand found him, he ducked and peered around Wardel's left arm as if hoping Arimand had lost track of him. Was it his imagination, or did Thail give him the stink-eye every time he glanced away? He gave up and turned his focus back to Wardel.
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, they're cobbled together. For another, the local sailors don't seem to care about making them last. They take enough wood to keep the boat afloat while it's got men and cargo aboard, then abandon it to the flames. They can't last more than two crossings.”
“We won't get very far if we have to keep coming ashore to rebuild,” Arimand agreed. “Especially when we reach the city.” He doubted anything grew there. They were lucky to have gathered as much wood as they had during the crossing of the badlands.
“It wouldn't be an efficient use of our resources anyway. What we need is a ship with a structure we can reinforce as we go.”
“We'd have to stockpile enough wood to last the whole journey.” Arimand frowned. “The problem with that is not knowing how long it will take to reach the wall.”
“And we can only guess the rate at which the flames will devour our structure,” Wardel said. “Though the locals might be able to help us with that.”
“We'll never gather enough,” Thail muttered, still hiding most of his face behind the bigger man. “Strange luck we have as much as we do.”
“Perhaps, but one should never question luck in Hell.” There was a soothing quality to Wardel's voice which seemed to calm his companion momentarily. “Wood seems less valuable here than anywhere else. With Dwenba's help, we can turn some of our excesses into wood stock for the journey.”
“Then all we need is a viable design,” Arimand said. “If it comes to it, we could always construct the ship ourselves.”
Again, a smile ghosted across Wardel's lips. “I may be able to help with that. I've been contemplating a dual hull with an air pocket between the two.” He held up both hands with a small gap between them. “Almost like one ship built inside another. That way, it will take twice as long for the fire to eat through our vessel.”
“Sounds promising. A stockpile of wood to renew the second hull should at least get us to the wall. The only question remains how to pass beneath it without catching on fire ourselves.”
Wardel scratched his close-shaven beard thoughtfully. “The answer to both problems might be the same. Give me some time; I think I can work it out. I might even be able to manage a distraction to cover our retreat.”
Arimand grinned. “You'd qualify as a saint if you could manage that. We haven't discussed how we're going to manage the demons on the wall. Slipping beneath their notice would be an unbelievable stroke of luck.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” Wardel patted the air in front of him with both hands. “I think I can design us a ship and a plan.”
“Good enough for me,” Arimand declared. “We'll take the rest as it comes.”
“Come on, Thail.” Wardel lightly grasped the nervous man's wrist. “We've got a lot to do.”
Thail shuffled in Wardel's wake, but not before he cast a few more narrow-eyed glances in Arimand's direction.
~*~*~*~
They needed no bonfire; they basked in the amber and crimson light cast by the river instead. Former members of Clan Vorilia who remained at port returned to share their triumph. Even the citizens of Dech abandoned their hovels to join the celebration, though none would ever hear news of the quest's outcome.
Wardel's final design was better than anyone anticipated. If all went well, the first two layers of the ship would carry them to the wall, where they would allow the structure to weaken. The third, innermost layer of the ship would then carry them beneath the wall and as far down the river as the wood supply lasted.
With Dwenba's help, the quiet northerner pitted the local shipbuilders against each other, gaining their prize for the cost of resources alone. As a matter of professional pride, some of the competitors contributed their own wood supplies to the construction. Eselt might have done a gleeful dance, or two.
It had taken weeks of nearly round-the-clock work to complete the task to Wardel's satisfaction. In the morning, they would push it into the river and light it ablaze.
As the crowd swirled across the riverbank, every sweaty face reflected joy, an emotion Arimand never expected to encounter in Hell. No amount of oppressive heat or howling wind could banish it tonight, though the laughter and chatter melted into unintelligible babble by the time it reached Arimand's vantage — a jagged spar jutting from a nearby rise.
Tomorrow, the souls dedicated to ensuring Kaylie's freedom would abandon their lenient damnation. None knew what ultimate fate they would face. Yet tonight, they celebrated as though they were bound for Heaven themselves.
Their joy didn't reach him.
A small figure detached itself from the crowd, moving with deliberate determination toward his haven. Despite the climb, Eselt wasn't the least bit short of breath when he flopped down beside Arimand and slapped his shoulder.
“What are you doing up here? This should be your party.”
Arimand barked an insincere laugh. “What should I celebrate? Leading the remains of your clan to ruin?”
“They all know what they agreed to. And you know as well as I do, it doesn't matter.”
Blinking against the bright glare, Arimand met his companion's gaze. “Of course it matters. Eternity is an awful damn long time.”
“Don't I know it! But they all know the same thing you and I did right from the start.” Eselt's expression flatly accused Arimand of acting the idiot. “Setting her free is more important than what happens to any of us.
”
Arimand scanned the crowd below. The bright flames cast many faces in shadowy silhouette, but it wasn't difficult to locate Kaylie. Even in shadow she possessed more brilliance than any other soul. When she smiled, everyone who saw smiled back. No wonder they laughed and clapped. Her joy was enough to warm even a soul as cynical as his.
“I never expected to see my sentiment mirrored in so many souls.”
“Redemption is mighty hard to come by in Hell. The devil didn't leave man many opportunities to see his sins absolved, and the old gods don't give a shit about us that didn't follow their specific rules. All we've got is waste and regret.”
“Some would claim we earned it,” Arimand murmured.
“Maybe we did,” Eselt growled. “But we all know it's wrong to subject Kaylie to this miserable monotony when she didn't do a damn thing wrong. Besides, if we're beyond the gods' redemption, we'll just have to find our own.”
Never had another man's statement so mirrored his personal thoughts. “It's too bad we don't have a good, strong whiskey.”
With a smirk, Eselt untied his water skin and held it up. Arimand nodded and pulled another from his belt. The Acheron's water held a different kind of fire, the kind that seared the heart rather than the throat, but it would suffice. They threw their heads back in unison, each downing a large gulp. Together, they choked on the sorrow as it seeped into their chests, leaving them with the same burning eyes and raw throats a fine shot of whiskey may have. They patted each other's shoulders and settled back on the slope.
As the sadness loosened its grip, a strange sound drifted over the ridge. Music. Arimand never imagined he would hear someone sing after his arrival in Hell. The music swelled as more souls added voice to the song, some of them sweet and melodic, others rough and grating. Arimand tried to etch them all into his memory, knowing he would never hear the like again.
~*~*~*~
The ship already burned. The supplies were loaded, the remains of the camp dismantled, and its former inhabitants scattered. No crowd lingered to see them off; they'd moved on.
Kaylie tried to ignore the flickering orange and yellow dance of flames as she mounted the entry ramp. A brighter, hotter fire had burned in the eyes of her companions the night before. Arimand once told her determination could make men daring. She wondered if it also made them foolish.
The moment she crossed the threshold, Kaylie had to relinquish her comforting refrain. Any change of heart now would come too late. Arimand's smile of greeting did little to dispel the dread lodged in her stomach. She accepted his outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her across the main deck.
Her focus should have been on the features he indicated as they passed. She may need to know how to steer this ship one day. But her thoughts kept slipping over her recent farewells. The quiet well-wishes of the ladies as they moved on to other clans. The way the children grasped her skirt, sobbing, begging for one more story. Just one more tale before she had to leave.
If she did escape Hell, and if that exodus ever led to divine notice, she would demand to know how children ever came to be damned.
Arimand led her in a wide circle. They sidestepped crew who knotted ropes and adjusted rigging, preparing to put the ship in motion. They were about to venture below deck when a commotion drew their attention back toward shore.
“If you don't move out of my way, sonny, I'll knock you right into the water!” a familiar voice cut above the din.
Kaylie and Arimand exchanged glances before they rushed to offer their assistance. The crowd had given way by the time they arrived. With a huff, Dwenba drew herself on deck and straightened her tattered apron. Arimand turned his head to hide his laughter. Kaylie smirked.
“I thought you'd gone to stay with the children. Have you come to see us off?”
“See you off, my lady? I'm coming with you.”
“Like hell you are!” Eselt roared, stomping across the deck with such force he shook the ship. “I escorted you to that caravan myself. You agreed to watch over the little 'uns. Wouldn't dare be parted from 'em. That's what you said!”
“Like hell indeed,” Dwenba sniffed, lifting her chin imperiously. She was taller than Eselt without having to try. “I said exactly what you wanted to hear, oh mighty Chief. You're so much easier to handle when you think you're getting your way.”
Kaylie bit her lip to keep from laughing.
A small vein throbbed in Eselt's throat. His face was redder than the river fire. “Get off my damn ship, woman! Go back to where you're safe!”
“Going to throw me in the fire if I don't?” Dwenba sneered with a toss of her head. “I'm as determined as any man on this ship to see Lady Kaylie to safety, and I have been since your grand speech back in Blalt. Or did you think I provisioned this ship as a favor to you?” She jabbed her finger at his chest to punctuate her words. “I'm not moving unless you make me, and we both know you won't.”
Was that smoke rising from the deck or Eselt's ears? “This ship ain't going anyplace you should take a woman-”
“My… Well, Lady Kaylie…” Dwenba grasped her hand, “We'll just have to go back down to shore, the two of us, and send these gents on their merry way.”
Eselt sputtered incoherently.
“I thought you'd see it my way.” Dwenba grinned. “Besides, Lady Kaylie needs female companionship for this journey. How else will she survive being holed up with a pack of inconsiderate scoundrels?”
Arimand lost the battle at last. Tilting his head backward, he howled with laughter. “Come now, Eselt,” he managed to gasp between gleeful gales, “you know no one can out-argue Dwenba. Besides, we're bound to need fresh supplies on the journey and we won't have much to trade with. Dwenba's silver tongue may be an unexpected boon.”
Eselt's eyes narrowed to slits. “You know this is a one way trip, woman-”
“Woman isn't my name,” Dwenba snapped, jabbing her finger at his chest again. “I've been here almost as long as you. I know how Hell works.”
A sharp jolt of guilt stole Kaylie's good humor. Her stomach twisted in painful knots. Much as she valued Dwenba's companionship, clinging to it meant dooming her friend. Was it too late to change her mind?
As she watched the woman who had guided and comforted her since her arrival smooth her apron one more time, cold realization settled over Kaylie. It wasn't, had never been, her decision to make. Like Eselt, she could only respect Dwenba's wishes.
Though displeasure still smoldered in Eselt's eyes, the red had gone out of his face. “Perhaps you ladies would be more comfortable below deck, away from the smoke.” He stomped away without waiting for a reply, shouting orders to the crew.
There'd be no escaping the heat on this journey. There was little difference between the scalding, humid air above deck and the arid, stale air below. They descended out of a boiling cauldron and into a brick oven.
Most of the lower deck belonged to the inner ship, which would eventually carry them beneath the Impassable Wall. Until then, the doors remained open, allowing the crew to use the space while they were off duty. A cubby below the stairs served as a pantry for the food, water and wood that would accompany them on the journey. A small portion of the remaining space had been walled off to create a private room for Kaylie. With the addition of a few extra blankets, it would be easy for her to share it with Dwenba.
Their ship departed Dech without fanfare, moving in the one direction no sane soul would ever go. Even carried by the river current, their progress was slow. Ethilirotha's barren landscape stretched unbroken on either side of the river, dotted by the rickety structures of Dech and Estul on the opposite side.
Though the two women retreated to their room whenever they wanted privacy, they spent most of their time in the larger common area, telling stories with the crew. Aside from regular duty shifts, there was little else to do.
Their meals were meager. They stretched supplies as much as they dared. In the early days, boredom drove everyone to nap often. But t
he more they rested, the harder it grew to sleep. Kaylie found herself watching the crew, noting little details of their behavior. The way Sulard and Kimuli went everywhere together; worked the same duties, slept in the same corner, ate together, spoke together in soft tones and received the same lectures from their leader.
Then there were Thail's nervous antics. The way he paced the lower deck as if the idea of rest drove him mad. The little comments he muttered about certain decisions, especially Arimand's, when he thought no one could hear him. He even gave her strange looks some days, as if he expected her to turn on him. Only Wardel seemed able to calm him, engaging him in random conversations about mundane tasks they had each performed in life.
Dwenba fussed the way she always had. Eselt and Arimand rarely rested, spending most of their time on the upper deck. Often they argued, though Eselt seemed determined to keep her from overhearing the details.
As before, Kaylie felt useless. She and Dwenba sometimes ventured above deck, but Eselt adamantly refused to allow them to help. It seemed as though a year passed before Arimand flew down the stairs and summoned them into the midday heat.
As the two women mounted the stairs, dark shapes on the horizon caught Kaylie's eye. What she first thought were clouds turned out to be an uneven series of stone monoliths. The towering structures of Jhagjaw. The second ring of Hell. Even without memory, Kaylie knew no such architecture had ever been seen by living eyes.
Chapter Nine: Jhagjaw
Shaggy red and black creatures shuffled across the shore, gleefully toppling dilapidated market stands. Even if they hadn't been twice the size of a man, the souls fleeing their approach called attention to their presence. They seemed to travel in pairs.
“That's the third set in five days,” Arimand sighed. “Even accounting for the extra ground we cover on the river, that seems like too many.”
“As if we need another problem,” Eselt grumbled. “Rumors of demon raids used to be rare. Something's gone wrong.”