Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  Arimand whispered often that her ordeal would end soon, but she could no longer take solace in his promise. Somehow, his determination bolstered him, but she could only endure.

  Eselt poked his head through the open hatch, interrupting her reverie. “Arimand? You'd best come above, lad.”

  Kaylie's eyes snapped open, instantly alert. Eselt only called Arimand above when he suspected trouble. She pulled herself upright and followed in his wake. It had been so long since she walked outside, she doubted anyone would protest. Dwenba reached for her as she passed, and she caught the older woman's arm, drawing her to her feet.

  “I need a breath of fresh air. Come with me.”

  Dwenba hesitated. Arimand was already halfway up the stairs. Concern flitted across the older woman's face before she could suppress it. At last, she nodded and followed.

  Kaylie didn't know what to expect when they reached the upper deck. It took so long for her eyes to adjust to the dazzling light, they would probably pass the object of interest before she could see it. Even so, she tracked the direction of Eselt's gaze and squinted, scanning the horizon for movement.

  At first, the dance of flames played tricks with her eyes, convincing her that shadows moved against the blackness.

  Arimand cursed. “Get the last of our steering poles and push hard for the far shore.”

  Eselt snapped his fingers and Wardel scrambled below deck to comply. “And when we get there?”

  “One step at a time,” Arimand replied. His eyes shifted, his gaze locking with Kaylie's. The grim set of his jaw told her all she needed to know. Blinking hard, she squinted into the night again.

  Slowly, the shadows resolved into recognizable shapes. Not tricks of the light. Demons. There had to be at least five of them, moving straight toward their tiny vessel. If they traveled in ranks, the creatures in back would be obscured from her view. The beast in the center was twice the size of the rest. She didn't need to see its face to know it was the demon from the wall. The demon from the city. The one who promised to return for her.

  Since they couldn't fit more than a dozen people on the remains of the upper deck, Kaylie and Dwenba added their strength to the steering effort. The cramped nature of their shrinking ship may have prevented a panicked scramble, but it also robbed them of precious manpower. Straining against the staves, the crew fought the river current, inching their small craft toward the far shore.

  Meanwhile, the demons formed a line on the opposite bank. Wicked fangs and sharp claws glinted in the firelight. There were seven smaller demons, each bearing a cruel smile as their leader prepared to take a running leap into the fire.

  At the base of the wall, there had been space to flee the demon's descent. This time they could only strain against the steering poles and pray the extra few inches they gained would put them beyond its range.

  The moment the demon's paws collided with the remains of their vessel, it shattered.

  Kaylie clutched Dwenba's shoulders, crushing the older woman against her. Dwenba wrapped both arms around Kaylie's waist and squeezed so hard Kaylie could barely breathe.

  The deck fell out from under them and they tumbled, rolling across a solid stretch of planks. They bobbed to a stop, floating on a sizable remainder of the inner wall.

  Screams filled the air around them as men tumbled into the river, spilling from the remains of the ship like egg through a breached shell. They scrambled to pull themselves onto floating debris, limbs already burning.

  Undaunted by the flames, the smaller demons waded into the river. What had taken heart-stopping minutes for their vessel to traverse, the demons crossed in seconds.

  A flurry of limbs, both human and demon, churned the river to a froth. Those who managed to land safely cast about for usable weapons, tossing spears and swords at the unprotected heads of the advancing demons. Others made their way toward shore, hopping from flotsam to flotsam as they might jump pond stones.

  Panting, Kaylie and Dwenba untangled themselves. Their haven might be larger than others, but it was bound to sink fast. Already flames licked at the edges. Kaylie searched frantically for a path to shore, but could find no substantial wreckage near them. She swallowed the lump of despair in her throat.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Paddle,” Dwenba ordered, thrusting the remains of a smoldering plank into her hand. Then she fished another from the river, stomped away the flames and dipped her makeshift oar into the water.

  Kaylie shuffled to the far edge of their tiny raft and plunged her plank into the river in a series of scooping motions. Her arms ached after a couple strokes, but she didn't dare stop. Already flames slithered through the cracks between boards. Luckily, the momentum of the demon's charge pushed them toward safety.

  Just as their raft split in two, Kaylie and Dwenba made the final leap to shore. They stumbled. Kaylie tripped and rolled twice before she slid to a stop. Without pausing to catch her breath, she surged to her feet and patted her clothing against lingering fire. Dwenba did the same. Then the two women laughed with giddy relief and flung their arms around each other again. They were covered in soot and sweat, but uninjured.

  The largest demon emerged from the water, lowered its head and charged through the remains of the clan, cutting their celebration short. Three smaller demons remained in the river, dragging souls beneath the surface. Another stood on the riverbank, blocking access to the stragglers.

  Scattered across the shoreline, disorganized groups battled the rest of the demons. They had one of the smaller ones surrounded, herding it in circles while they tried to strike a killing blow. But Moril barreled through their circle, sweeping them aside like driftwood.

  Where is Arimand? Kaylie scanned the battlefield. She could barely distinguish the frantic yells of her companions from the mad laughter of their attackers. Had Arimand made it out of the river? Had the initial attack thrown him into the flames?

  Though the demon had come for her, she and Dwenba seemed to occupy a forgotten piece of the battlefield, a lone spot of stillness among the storm. She knew they should remain, wait for the battle to end, hope they weren't noticed or, perhaps, flee. But she had come to trust only one thing in Hell. She had to find Arimand.

  She took Dwenba's arm. Wordlessly, the older woman fell into step beside her. Together, they wove through the commotion, giving the demons wide berth. So long as they had men to slaughter, they seemed content. Perhaps Moril had warned them away from her.

  Moril. If she found the demon, she would find Arimand. The two would be drawn to each other like moths to flame.

  It was surprisingly difficult to pinpoint the demon commander until it reared onto its hind legs, looming over the battlefield like an ancient colossus.

  Though her lungs burned and her legs ached, Kaylie increased her speed. Dwenba kept pace with her as they swung headlong into the fray. They kept each other safe, calling warnings, swerving to safer paths, pushing and pulling each other without apology when danger loomed. They paused when they reached the edge of the battlefield to catch their breath and Kaylie finally caught sight of their guide.

  Left arm pressed to his abdomen, Arimand leaned heavily on his sword as he tried to rise from his knees. Kaylie couldn't tell from here how badly he was injured or how much blood he might have lost.

  Several feet distant, at the edge of the river, Moril pawed the ground. Lowering its curved horns, it charged, powerful limbs propelling it forward.

  Guessing her intentions, Dwenba clung to Kaylie's arm with both hands, but it only took a moment to extract herself from her friend's grip. Even at a dead run, she knew the demon would reach Arimand first.

  A high-pitched howl filled the air.

  The demon skidded to a halt. So did Kaylie.

  The ground shook. Tiny stones bounced at their feet as the sound grew louder. It almost seemed to vibrate through her head, forcing her to press her palms to her ears to relieve the pressure.

  Stillness blanketed the battlefield
. The smaller demons hesitated, lifting their gazes skyward. A few men pressed their attacks, but most hesitated when the demons did, frightened and confused.

  As one, the smaller demons abandoned the battle, leaping over the humans blocking their path. One by one, they dove into the flaming river. Moments later they emerged on the far side, shook themselves like dogs and bounded into the night.

  Only Moril remained, head low, fangs bared. It narrowed flaming eyes in Arimand's direction.

  The warrior finally found the strength to stand. He lifted his sword. It wavered once, then stabilized, daring the demon to resume its charge.

  For a small eternity, they glared across the battlefield, gazes locked, breathing heavy. Their hatred was a palpable force, throbbing in the air with each exhalation.

  Moril broke eye contact. Grudgingly, the demon backed up a step, turned and ran up the riverbank.

  Chapter Fifteen: Hell's True Power

  Arimand watched the demon retreat. If only he could burn holes in its backside with his eyes. Sooner or later, he'd have the creature's head. He didn't care what it cost him.

  “Arimand?” Kaylie seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Rather than throwing her arms around his neck, she walked a quick circle around him, eyes scanning for signs of injury. She would find little aside from a fresh round of scratches and bruises. His clothing had fared worse, singed by the river's fire and torn by demon's claws.

  “I'm all right.” He returned his sword to its sheath.

  “Are you certain? You're shaking.”

  The slight movements aggravated his sore muscles, a hundred tiny needles driven into his arms and legs. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. The rage would fade now that his nemesis had fled. “I'm fine.”

  “Then what's this?” Kaylie snatched the tattered hem of his shirt and tugged it upward, revealing a scarlet line across his abdomen.

  “A scratch.” He pulled her hand from his shirt. “Too shallow to be of concern.”

  It looked as though Kaylie wanted to argue, but she swallowed it instead. “What happened? Those demons could have killed us all.”

  “Their master called them away. There must be some other task he wishes them to attend.”

  “We can all be grateful for that,” Dwenba panted. She leaned an elbow against the younger woman's side when she caught her, and Kaylie put an arm beneath her shoulder to support her.

  “I can't imagine what the King of Hell considers more important than a group of rogue souls trying to escape his realm,” Kaylie muttered.

  Shrugging, Arimand glanced over his shoulder at the remains of their group. The assault had taken many. Less than half the men who set out from Dech remained. Considering what awaited them, it might prove a blessing.

  Eselt had already organized the survivors. Half hauled the burnt and injured from the water, those that could still move. The rest retrieved wood, dousing the fire from each plank they pulled free.

  When Dwenba caught her breath, she and Kaylie descended on the wounded. Kaylie confiscated every spare bit of fabric she could find to make bandages. Wardel wandered the battlefield, scavenging every intact weapon he could find. Thail muttered to himself while he pulled planks from the river, stacking them in two neat piles beside him.

  He glanced up when Arimand passed behind him. “Didn't want them chomping Arimand's head,” he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. But as soon as Arimand glanced in his direction, he turned back to the river and refused to look elsewhere.

  Arimand's shoulders heaved with a silent sigh as he moved on. There was no point fighting with a man who'd obviously lost his mind. “We need to get moving as quickly as possible,” he told Eselt without preamble.

  “You don't have to tell me. I don't know what made those demons run-”

  “Their master called them elsewhere, though I can't fathom why.”

  “Convenient inconvenience,” Thail grumbled. Either his voice didn't reach their leader's ears, or Eselt chose to ignore him.

  “Me either. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the teeth, but I don't imagine they'll stay away long. We don't have enough wood left to travel by river.”

  “We'll need what's left to cross the Cocytus. Kimuli's words seem prophetic now.”

  Eselt snorted. “If you don't contemplate what those demons would have done to us if we'd started on land.”

  “Stayed away, mostly,” Thail ranted in the background. “Something kept them away.”

  Arimand bit his tongue. They wouldn't have lost so many to the river if they'd been on shore. Might not have lost any. He watched Kaylie and Dwenba move among the wounded. Most weren't fit to stand, let alone walk. He didn't want to contemplate the agony of their burns.

  Wardel returned from the battlefield, setting a scant pile of weapons at Arimand's feet. He followed the soldier's gaze as he stood. “What will we do?” he asked quietly.

  “We'll have to leave them behind,” Eselt grunted. “We can't afford delays.”

  “Lady Kaylie isn't going to like that,” Wardel protested.

  Arimand set his lips in a grim line. “Let me handle it. Start binding that wood so we can carry it. We're going to need all the rope and water skins we can salvage as well. Wardel, see if you can calm Thail, will you? We can't afford panic.”

  “I'll try,” Wardel agreed, nodding respectfully to both men before he departed.

  “That man is troubled,” Eselt murmured, shaking his head.

  “And soon to be trouble.” It was hard not to growl; Thail had Arimand on his last nerve. “Probably more than he's worth.”

  “He's worth a sturdy set of arms and legs. And mind that willful tongue of yours, lad,” Eselt retorted, prodding Arimand's chest with a finger. “I'm still the leader of this clan. I give the orders.”

  Arimand held up both hands as if in surrender. “Old habit, Chief. Sorry.”

  Eselt said nothing, but gave Arimand a dark look before he turned away; a clear warning he could expect a beating the next time he spoke out of turn.

  When they finished fishing debris from the water, there was little to divvy among the survivors. They had enough wood and rope to craft a raft, but only enough water skins to keep them hydrated a few days after departing the Cocytus.

  They returned the dead to the river. The moans of the river-scorched indicated how little mercy the clan provided by extending their lives. Some could sit, but many could only lay prone. Kaylie tried her best to comfort them, but she had run out of cloth and had nothing to clean their wounds. How many would throw themselves back in the river when the group had gone?

  Eselt called the battered group to order, and they gathered around the wounded. Several tried to force themselves to their feet, as if to prove they could keep pace with the rest.

  “We can't risk lingering any longer,” Eselt announced. “We'll have to make do with what we have.” His eyes flicked in Arimand's direction, perhaps granting him permission to speak.

  “There's one last concern. We know those demons will come back. If we're going to make good our escape, we need a group to stay behind and defend our retreat. Perhaps they can mislead the demons about our direction. I would do this myself, but I dare not, no matter how my sword thirsts for the blood of those foul beasts. I must continue to serve as guide.”

  Understanding flickered in the wounded men's eyes. Many who had fought for their feet, slid back to the ground. Resignation gazed back at him. They all squared their shoulders, willing to accept one last duty, no matter how fictitious.

  “Are there any volunteers?” Arimand asked.

  One by one, the wounded raised their hands, vowing to keep the demons at bay as long as possible.

  Eselt granted everyone who raised their hand permission to stay behind. Even after all they'd been through, none of the able members of the group tried to escape a grimmer fate.

  The discussion was short. There was little to say.

  Eselt barked orders, setting a grueling pace.
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  As Arimand lifted a bundle of wood over his shoulder, he caught Kaylie scowling at him. His ruse hadn't fooled her.

  ~*~*~*~

  Eselt's grueling pace didn't last long. The uneven ground, the river's oppressive heat and the weight of their burdens slowed the entire group. They shambled down a path parallel to the river's course, hovering on the outskirts of its brightness. The silhouette of the distant prison walls hovered ever on the edges of their vision.

  It grew increasingly difficult to walk. Their muscles were stiff and sore after so much time lazing in cramped quarters. After the first hour, Kaylie's legs had turned to goo, only grudgingly obeying her commands to keep moving. How did the wounded manage? She stumbled, but caught herself before she fell. Every other step, her toes seemed to catch on rocks or cracks.

  The clan marched in a wide, disorganized column to keep from tripping into each other. Without the sun to mark the time, they had no idea how long they walked between breaks. They might have been walking a week, or it might still be the day of the attack. Time stood still in this ring of Hell.

  Kaylie's shoulders sagged and eyelids drooped, heavy with fatigue. Sometimes she shuffled through a waking dream, moving through the same hallway dozens of times, past the same doors and paintings, all blank and featureless.

  The prior leg of their journey had been miserable and monotonous, but Kaylie longed to return to their tiny vessel, if only to rest her weary feet and legs. Each step cost more effort than the last, until staying upright drained most of her energy. Without food and water to renew their strength, their short breaks offered little more than a brief respite from the misery of movement.

  At last, she understood Hell's true power. It was neither horror nor sorrow, neither agony nor suffering. It was the slow draining of hope, of humanity, from its inhabitants. Her soul was empty. The body crossing the wastes was a shell, devoid of purpose.