Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  Moril turned back to his work with new vigor. The swamp had begun to thin; the ground was steadier, the water shallow and the stench of decay had begun to subside.

  Kaylie couldn't get past the voices. She could hear them now. Had they been calling her home all this time? Had the King of Hell demanded her soul in exchange for saving her kingdom? It seemed a small sacrifice to save so many. And it explained his determination to keep her here.

  But if Moril spoke true, the demon chasing her hadn't been real. Why hadn't the King of Hell tried to stop Moril from recovering her soul? Why hadn't he tried to stop Arimand setting her free?

  Moril raised his arm to block her path. A few feet ahead, the ground fell away. Kaylie's heart leapt into her throat. They couldn't be at the border to Hell's fifth ring already. They hadn't traveled far enough. Unless the demon had teleported while it carried her or while she slept. Had the conversation been a distraction?

  Together, they approached the drop and peered cautiously down. They stood on a sheer wall of rock that cut through the wasteland below. Jagged rocks lined the base of the escarpment, threatening to skewer any soul that might survive the sheer plunge. Their torches didn't penetrate far, but Kaylie thought she could discern darker patches interspersed with lighter shadows marking treacherous drops and deep canyons.

  Head spinning with an overwhelming sense of vertigo, Kaylie stumbled away from the edge. She knelt with her torch, back to the chasm, eyes squeezed closed, one hand on the earth to steady her. Moril left her alone. She had just managed to catch her breath when he cleared his throat to indicate his approach.

  “I found the way down.”

  “You're not serious.”

  “If you want to go home, we have to cross that wasteland. Even your precious Arimand would have had to take you through it, sooner or later.”

  “He said we wouldn't have to go beyond the fourth ring-”

  “We haven't. These are still the trapped lands. We'll have to be just as careful down there as we have been up here.”

  “What makes you think I'm willing to scale that cliff in near total darkness?”

  “I found a slope we can walk down. It will be difficult but it shouldn't be dangerous. Besides, I haven't finished answering your questions.”

  Ten minutes ago, she would have resisted. But she could still hear the chanters. Their voices rose to a crescendo, then faded until they almost vanished before swelling anew.

  “Couldn't we stop to rest?” she suggested, hoping to glean more before she agreed to go onward.

  “At the bottom. The descent will take a lot out of us. I almost wish the King of Hell would return me to the demon form. It would be a lot easier to carry you down. But it would be to his disadvantage if we could move swiftly.”

  Kaylie's blood ran cold. Was this a hint to frighten her into action? Would he re-take the demon form if she didn't cooperate? She pushed to her feet.

  Moril tied a length of rope around both their waists, for safety. It felt like a leash. But even if she wanted to run, there was nowhere to go. She could tell the moment they started down the slope there was only one path.

  Though they didn't have to climb, the descent required all their focus. Trusting their weight to the wrong section of slope would send them both skidding to their deaths. They paused several times to catch their breath and Kaylie tried not to look down.

  As Moril predicted, they were both exhausted by the time they reached the bottom. Without comment, he gathered as much deadfall as he could find and lit a fire. This time Kaylie curled beside it without hesitation, allowing oblivion to carry her away.

  Moril sat on the far side of the fire when she woke, a silent guardian. Had he slept? How could he so tirelessly continue the march if he didn't? He gave her a few minutes before he asked if she was ready to depart.

  Again, he lit a torch from the fire and held it out to her. And again, she hesitated. She had agreed on one day. Shouldn't she make her stand while she could still find shelter in the shadow of the cliff?

  “I thought you wanted to know how I came to Hell.”

  Was she an open book to him? Was it because he knew her or was he well versed in the art of manipulation? Kaylie glanced beyond Moril. Her eyes had adjusted enough to pick out splotches of black in the sea of grey. What could one more day hurt? It couldn't possibly carry them out of this wasteland.

  She accepted the torch. Moril doused the fire and took the lead.

  “Your father and I agreed we needed to do something before the mages' magic failed. But no one had the ability to follow you. I hated every moment of those days, not knowing what had happened to you, helpless to act. And all the while you slept right in front of me. I could touch your face and hold your hand, but couldn't talk to you at all.” He paused, swallowed hard and started again.

  “When the mages asked for a volunteer, I didn't hesitate. I wanted you safely home and I didn't care what it took to bring you back. I…” he hesitated. “I know you won't accept this, but I love you. I would gladly give my life if it meant restoring your soul to your body.”

  Kaylie said nothing. She caught the hitch of emotion in Moril's throat when he spoke. But it could be an act.

  “The royal scholars scoured your family's historical writings trying to determine the limits of the magic you used to travel. They believed a single soul could 'borrow' that power in order to follow you, especially if their bond with you was strong. There were no better candidates. But the moment I arrived, the King of Hell trapped me in that demonic body.”

  It was a lot to take in. “How do you know my soul wasn't part of the deal?”

  “You'd never agree to something like that. Not in your right mind. My only guess is that the King of Hell tricked you somehow. He's surely the cause of your memory loss. I can only hope you'll regain everything when you leave.”

  “And the River Styx is the only way for me to get out of Hell?”

  “It shouldn't be. As far as we know, the King of Hell shouldn't be able to stop you from leaving whenever you want.” Moril stopped and turned to her. “Maybe I've been over-thinking everything. Maybe we can end this right now. Try it. Will yourself out of Hell.”

  He sounded hopeful, almost triumphant. Could anything in Hell be so simple? Could she recover it all in an instant? Could she help Arimand from the mortal realm?

  Kaylie closed her eyes. Chanting filled her head, reverberating within her skull, rising to a fever pitch, though she could never quite trace the words. Take me home, she thought at the voices, willing them to lift her away from all these horrors.

  Music filled her, vibrating in her veins. Something warm and bright splashed across her face like sunlight. The voices faded.

  Kaylie opened one eye. Nothing had changed. Moril glanced at her expectantly. She closed her eyes and tried again.

  No matter the volume or pitch of the music, no matter what she screamed silently in its direction, both her body and consciousness remained rooted in Hell. She hadn't really expected another outcome.

  She opened her eyes and shrugged helplessly. “I hear the voices, but I can't seem to reach them. Maybe there's some kind of incantation?”

  Moril's shoulders sagged. To his credit, he straightened his back and lifted his chin, trying to maintain the illusion of optimism. “If there is, I'm afraid I don't know it. So the river will have to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: Race to the River

  Arimand hadn't slept in days. He was like a wild creature, possessed by his purpose. He drove the clan at a grueling pace. If anyone voiced complaints, they never reached his ears. No one would have dared to speak them within his hearing. Not now. On the rare occasions Eselt demanded rest, Arimand paced the perimeter of their camp. Willpower kept him on his feet. Determination kept him moving.

  They lost countless men to the swamp, weakness and fatigue. “If someone falls behind,” he warned on the first day, “leave them behind.”

  “And what are we to do if we find ourselves alone
in the swamp?” Thail had demanded with his usual fervor. Arimand hoped he would be among the first to fall.

  “Stay where you fall. Let delirium take you, and pray a demon never crosses your path.” They could no longer afford delays. The demon could travel without rest or worry. Arimand could tell Eselt wasn't entirely pleased by the suggestion, but he hadn't argued.

  Arimand could have moved faster alone. But he needed these men to fight Moril when he caught him. The duel proved that much. He would not allow the demon to sweep success from his grasp while he stood on the cusp of triumph.

  Every respite ended the same. When Arimand's temper threatened to consume him, he marched to the center of camp and kicked Eselt awake. The short man glared up at him, eyes rimmed with deep creases and dark spots, his face a portrait of misery. Arimand's sense that Eselt wanted nothing more than to rip out his throat grew stronger each time. But Eselt always rose and barked the familiar order, he alone as motivated as Arimand to see their task to its end.

  The remains of the clan roused with groans, receiving only sharp jabs or swift slaps as comfort. If any had the energy to rebel, they feared whatever fate awaited them in the swamp more than they feared Arimand's growing ire.

  They had to catch up to Kaylie. Nothing else mattered.

  When the swamp began to thin, Arimand quickened their pace. The rocky wastes were no less dangerous, but the path was wider and the traps easier to identify. Several men paused to stomp their feet on solid ground and one or two whooped with glee. But all scrambled to keep pace until Arimand called a halt at the edge of a sheer drop.

  Those carrying torches shimmied to the front, leaning as far as they dared to light the landscape below. Loose stones skittered down the escarpment, crashing against the jagged rocks jutting from its base. The torchbearers retreated until only Eselt remained by Arimand's side.

  “Damn!” the clan leader snarled. “We'll have to backtrack and find some way around.”

  “There'd be no point in that. Down is where we have to go. Our destination lies across these wastes.”

  “Are you mad? There's no way down!”

  Arimand rolled his eyes skyward. “There's always a way, Eselt. Haven't you learned that by now? The King of Hell's minions need to be able to traverse his lands.”

  “There was no way around that demon you agreed to fight.” Thail's retort announced his arrival. He was accompanied by the more reasonable Wardel, who remained silent.

  “That was different,” Arimand growled. “You know damn well the demon would have attacked if we turned our backs to it, pinning us on a narrow path where it could have picked us off one by one.”

  “It does seem a safe assumption the beast carried Lady Kaylie down the crag.” Wardel spoke softly, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. “It scaled the Impassible Wall without difficulty. This would be no challenge, even with one less limb.”

  Thail eyed the edge nervously, creeping forward so that he could take one brief peek at the slope before skittering back to Wardel's side. “No claw marks,” he muttered, wringing his hands together.

  Arimand gritted his teeth. “If you recall the incident at the wall, not all of Hell's inhabitants bear the same shape. The smaller ones would need a path. The longer we argue, the further that thing carries Kaylie away from us. If it reaches its destination before we do, all we've done will be for naught.”

  “How do you know where it's going?” Eselt demanded. “We've been running blind for days, without so much as three words from you. First you agree to fight a demon as if it's a perfectly reasonable feat for a single man to accomplish-”

  “How does he do it?” Thail hissed, shouldering his way to the center of the circle, leaning so close to Arimand his rotten breath washed across his face. “What deal did you make?”

  “What?” Arimand hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Heard he did. What kind of deal did you make to gain the speed and reflexes of a wildcat and the endurance of the darkness itself? What kind of price did you pay?”

  Arimand set his forearm against Thail's chest and propelled the man backwards. Too bad he wasn't facing toward the cliff. “We don't have time for your rambling today, you empty-headed buffoon-”

  Wardel gently grasped Thail's shoulder and drew the man behind him. “Need I remind you that we undertook this entire journey on the word of the man you just called an empty-headed buffoon? Does it take so long to offer an explanation?”

  “I've let you run roughshod out of a need for haste,” Eselt said, a sinister edge to his voice. “But I'm still the leader here. If I'm going to sacrifice more men to this trek, I need an ounce of confidence in your decisions.”

  Arimand ground his teeth so hard, he imagined them turning to dust. Each heavy breath he drew lifted his shoulders; they dropped with each sharp exhale. “After all I've done for this party, all the risks I've taken to see this venture a success, you're the last person I expected to turn on me, Eselt.”

  “We're not against you, Arimand,” Wardel insisted. “We want to understand your thoughts. For all we know, the demon might have teleported Kaylie to the center of Hell.”

  “If it were going to teleport, it wouldn't have run.” Arimand released an explosive sigh. “Demons love nothing more than taunting mortal souls. It would have wanted us to know we had no chance.”

  “Then what's it up to?” Eselt asked again. “I need something to tell my men so they don't mutiny when I ask them to scale that.” He jabbed a finger toward the escarpment.

  “We don't have to scale it,” Arimand's voice edged toward a growl. “There will be a path. As for the demon's intentions; it's going to remove Kaylie's drive to escape. The fastest way to do that is to dump her in the Styx.”

  Eselt and Wardel exchanged glances. Did he detect a hint of regret in both sets of eyes?

  “How soon can you get us down?” Eselt asked.

  “I just have to find the path. Get the torchbearers to line the rim and it shouldn't take long.”

  The men had already settled down to rest. Eselt and Wardel gathered the torchbearers and organized their efforts while Arimand prowled the cliff top. When he found a path that switch-backed halfway down slope, he knew he had the right one.

  His companions groaned as their leader roused them again from a too-short rest, but at least they could see the limits of their safety on the way down. By the time the stragglers reached the bottom, Arimand already had the front of the pack moving.

  They hadn't gone ten feet when a series of shouts from the back demanded a halt. Arimand spun, expecting another altercation when he saw Thail bobbing toward the front of the pack, unusually jubilant. Both the man's arms waggled above his head as he jogged. He sagged breathlessly when he finally reached Arimand's side.

  “Look!” Thail breathed between gasps. “Look!” he said louder, drawing the word out when Arimand failed to respond. He lifted his torso, thrust one hand beneath Arimand's face and pointed to the tattered piece of blue fabric perched on his palm.

  A crowd surrounded them, eager to view his prize.

  “It's from Lady Kaylie's dress,” Dwenba exclaimed.

  “Then we're on the right path,” Arimand said, motioning the group forward. “Let's not delay and allow the demon to gain ground.”

  With a hearty cheer, the clan followed, Thail's discovery adding new vigor to their steps. If anyone else heard the crazed man mutter, “How did she tear her dress if the demon carried her above the path?” they gave no indication of it.

  ~*~*~*~

  Whenever Kaylie's legs threatened to give way, Moril scavenged the materials for a small fire and watched over her while she slept. She asked him once how he managed to continue the journey without sleeping. He shrugged and said, “My body is sleeping somewhere already. Shouldn't that be enough?” But wasn't the same supposed to be true for her?

  He lured her onward with stories. Arimand had described her homeland with scholarly knowledge, relating general architecture,
cultural activities and a vague history of its land and people. He had recited city names and renowned landmarks. Dry as it had been, Kaylie hung on every word, hoping one of them would trigger a memory.

  Moril spoke of his homeland with personal passion. He described individual houses on familiar streets. He regaled her with tales of his childhood, recounting specific festivals he claimed she attended. While she listened, stray thoughts filled her mind. She identified the rules for childish games before he mentioned them. She caught a flash of a dress and a fragment of song. She even remembered a baker who gave her fresh bread every time she visited his shop as a child.

  By now, she could see the cobblestone streets of Corvala's capital with crystal clarity. The wall from her memory fragments served as part of the city's defenses and she had climbed the conveniently placed tree to glimpse the farmland beyond. She recalled the name of her first horse and her father's gentle, guiding touch the first time the mare threw her.

  Each time she woke from a nap, Kaylie told herself she should go no further. But the promise of new memories drove her forward. For the first time in months, she had a real sense of self, of where she came from and, if Moril spoke true, where she was trying to go. The important details were still missing though, shrouded in shadows. She still couldn't remember Moril, or his role in her life. How had they met? What drew her to him? If they were lovers, shouldn't the memories in which he featured be quick to resurface?

  The Moril-shaped void in her memory made her question everything. How did she know any of these memories were genuine? Could the demon make her believe anything it wanted? Or had it simply removed the block over enough of her memories to make its story seem plausible?

  Each time Moril handed her a torch, Kaylie gazed into the barren wasteland and thought of Arimand. Was he a pawn in some grander plot? What would he say if he were here? He must still be searching for her. Was she still the demon's captive? Or were they all caught up in the King of Hell's games?