Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  Every step felt like a betrayal.

  What advice would Dwenba give if she were here? Who else's judgment could Kaylie trust? Eselt would have slain Moril at the first available opportunity. But Dwenba could take the measure of a man in the span of a glance. She would have known what to do.

  As they wove between grinning canyons and skirted high mesas, Kaylie's heart came to ache more than her legs. If only she could talk to Arimand, surely she could sort everything out.

  A thin layer of sand started to coat their path, crunching beneath every step. They were close to another territory transition. Kaylie's heart began to hammer a familiar rhythm. What if it was the next ring's border? How could she have allowed Moril to lead her this far?

  The terrain flattened, high cliffs and jagged boulders fading into the distance. Rolling sand dunes lay before them, each identical to its fellows.

  Excitement gleamed in Moril's green eyes as he approached the threshold. “We're close now. The river is just beyond this desert.”

  Trailing behind him, Kaylie hesitated, lowered her torch and glanced over her shoulder. She knew better than to run. No safety lay behind her. But did she dare go forward? Here her curiosity would have to run dry if she wanted to talk to Arimand.

  She spread her feet and set her jaw, tightening her grip on her torch. “What makes you think I'm going to cooperate that long if you still intend to toss me in the river?”

  “The river will take you home, Kaylie. I know you can remember. I see the look on your face every time my stories spark a memory. Why don't you trust me?”

  “Because I don't remember you. And I don't remember any of this Hell-centric scholarship you claim I possess.”

  Moril hesitated, his eyes boring into hers. Was he trying to summon her memories of him? “I wish I could speak more about your knowledge.” His soft voice reflected his frustration. “It's usually you explaining these things to me. I thought you'd be your old self by now, but restoring your important memories probably requires magic of some kind.”

  “And you think dumping me in the Styx will solve that problem too?”

  “Indirectly. I'm hoping the block won't persist outside of Hell. But the Styx's ability to carry mortals between realms is a fairly common tale. Any of your former clan members could have told you. Legends say mortals can even sail between realms if they can find a river that feeds the Styx.”

  “Then why didn't Eselt push me in the river the moment we met? He wants me out of Hell more than anyone.”

  “Because it only works for the living. If he thought you were dead, he never would have thought to try.”

  “Doesn't that prove Arimand's innocence? He knew the river wouldn't work, so he took me to another exit.”

  “There is no other exit.” Moril's voice had gone flat. “Arimand knows who you are. That's why he took you toward the center of Hell.”

  “I can accept you come from my home country. I can accept that I'm alive, that the voices in my head are trying to lead me home. But I can't accept that Arimand is evil. You don't know him, how hard he's fought to protect me. Let me talk to him. We can wait for him here, talk to him together. If you both have my best interests at heart, then-”

  “That's the problem, Kaylie. He isn't concerned about you. I know you've developed some kind of attachment to him while you've been trapped down here, but he's dangerous. Think back over your journey with him. Isn't it strange that the demon form vanished only when I knocked him unconscious? And vanished again when keeping it left him at a disadvantage? If he isn't the King of Hell, then he's one of his agents.”

  Kaylie opened her mouth to unleash an angry tirade, but swallowed the words before they could leave her lips. Instead, she shook her head. “Of all your claims, this is the most outrageous. Why would the King of Hell leave his citadel for someone as insignificant as me?”

  “You wouldn't say that if you knew who you were. You're descended from an Angelic Avenger. Their power runs in your veins. Your abilities allowed you to enter Hell. No one alive can boast that, and few mages throughout history. The King of Hell cared enough to trap you down here. For all we know, Arimand could be a demon in disguise.”

  “Wouldn't the demons recognize one of their own?”

  Moril held up his free hand, palm facing the sky. “They didn't question my identity. But they did flee when we had your group pinned on the shores of the Phlegethon. Why would their master call them away moments before they completed their mission? And if I were one of his minions, why would he call me away only to send me back?”

  Kaylie swallowed hard. She had wondered the same. “If you weren't called by the King of Hell, why did you run?”

  “I didn't think I could win alone. And I worried the other demons would turn on me if I didn't react properly. If Arimand isn't the devil himself, he has the King of Hell's power behind him. The power I borrow from you is limited. It shows me the safe paths, but it doesn't do much else. I don't know what will happen if I die while I'm down here, and I don't think there'll be a second attempt for your rescue.”

  Kaylie regarded him for a long moment, lips puckered, eyes cold. “It seems just as reasonable an explanation that your master had some other task for you tend just that moment. Or perhaps he instructed you to change tactics before he sent you back. You did challenge Arimand to one-on-one combat, after all.”

  “Yes, one-on-one,” Moril emphasized each word. “Your entire clan was ready to mob me on the shores of the Phlegethon. And when I stopped to think on the situation, I saw I had no choice but to confront Arimand directly. Circumventing him never worked.”

  “I still can't believe he's lied to me all this time. Lied to all of us. He even had another damned soul verify his claims. Someone who died before he did. If he is a pawn, I don't believe he knows it.”

  “Be careful how many noble attributes you assign him,” Moril's voice held a warning edge. “He's in Hell.”

  “So are you. Yes, you seem kind, and your stories have helped me remember things. But there's still an equal chance you're the liar.”

  “If I'm lying, the river will do nothing. Maybe you'll hate your precious Arimand for a few minutes but, as soon as you dry, you'll remember everything. What's the harm in trying the river to prove me wrong?”

  “You might not be taking me to the Styx. Or when we get there, you might transport me to the center of Hell.”

  “If that was my intention, what would be the point in all this pretending? If the King of Hell wanted to prevent you from leaving, why would he bother turning you against Arimand?”

  “I don't know! What would be the point of escorting me to the center of Hell under the guise of helping me escape?”

  Moril took two steps backward and drew a deep breath. Desperation and anger warred in his eyes, but his expression eventually settled on pleading. “Don't do this to me, Kaylie. I don't want to force you to do anything. But your father charged me to protect you and bring you safely home. I can't carry both you and the torch.”

  “Then take your demon form. Carry me across the desert and throw me into the river. What's stopping you?”

  “I can't,” his voice cracked. “I'm not a demon. I never was. It wasn't supposed to be like this.”

  She wanted to believe him, but not if it meant condemning Arimand. It might be true that nothing in Hell was as it initially seemed, but she'd traveled with Arimand too long to disregard his heroic deeds. She shook her head.

  Moril sighed. His shoulders sagged. The torchlight reflected guilt and regret as he strode forward. “Perhaps one day, you'll forgive me for this.” He bent, braced his torch in a sand dune, and lifted her from the waist. It took several attempts for him to maneuver her onto his back. She could have made it difficult. She could have gone limp and slid to the ground. She could have kicked and punched and screamed. But she didn't.

  In the end, she clung to Moril's back, afraid to slip and crack her skull on the rocks. She hadn't hindered him, but she hadn't helped him e
ither. He lifted his torch aloft and steeled himself before he took the first step. Bent like a hunchback, he hobbled forward, one shuffling step at a time.

  Moril picked his way carefully up the side of the first dune. The uneven, shifting sands made walking difficult, and Kaylie's weight kept him off balance. Every few steps he would stumble, stop, and rebalance before he continued. He never complained, though he often grunted through his exertions. Kaylie couldn't help thinking of Arimand's tireless efforts to carry her through Hell's third ring.

  The few minutes it took to crest the first dune felt like hours. Three steps into the descent, Moril tumbled. His arms and legs sank into the sand. He flailed, attempting to recover, but only managed to knock Kaylie from his back.

  She rolled down the steep side of the dune, coming to rest on her side. As she struggled to catch her breath, she felt the first downward drag. She was sinking.

  She panicked. She had only one arm free and nothing to grip. In moments she would be unable to lift her head away from the suffocating sands.

  Moril appeared in her vision. In an awkward but controlled motion, he skidded down the dune and jerked to a halt beside her. He planted his torch in the sand and gripped her from beneath the shoulders to haul her free. He had to pause twice to catch his breath. When he lifted her high enough, she wriggled her limbs free of the grit and found a secure footing beside him.

  Together, they knelt in the dancing torchlight. Moril drew her toward him, his arm resting lightly across her shoulders as he pressed his forehead to hers. Their chests heaved as they fought to catch their breath. The heat of Moril's exhales washed across Kaylie's cheeks. It was a gentle, tender gesture, shockingly familiar.

  Kaylie didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into Moril's warmth, resting her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, drawing strength from him in much the same way she had from Arimand.

  “I'm sorry,” he said at last, drawing back. He got to his feet and helped her stand. “I'm sorry. I was so worried.” Again, his voice cracked.

  Kaylie said nothing. She lifted his torch from the sand. Before he lit another, Moril tore two strips of cloth from his shirt. He used one to bind the lower half of his face and offered her the other. He held the torch while she tied it.

  Her hands shook while she fastened the knot. Her knees wobbled as they picked their way down the shifting dune. She stayed close to Moril's side as they trudged up the next sandy mountain. Heavy winds swirled around them by the time they reached its peak, kicking sand and grit into their faces.

  Moril did his best to shield her face, but met with little success. He lifted one arm and squinted against the gritty haze.

  A massive wall of sand loomed at the edge of the light. A sandstorm rapidly closing on their position.

  “Run!” Moril grabbed Kaylie's arm and propelled her into motion.

  She didn't protest, straining to keep up with his long strides, terrified of what would happen when the storm caught up.

  Her world narrowed to minding the placement of her feet without sacrificing speed. A tumble would mean the end of her; the whipping wind could bury her in sand before she realized what happened, and it nipped at her heels like a pack of hungry wolves. Why had Moril chosen to run deeper into the desert rather than back toward solid ground? Even if the storm didn't halt at the edge of the biome, they could find shelter among the rocks.

  “There!” Moril's voice barely reached her through the din. How long had they been running? She couldn't keep going much longer. “Do you see it?

  Kaylie hadn't the breath to respond. She scanned the horizon but saw nothing. Sand stung her eyes. She blinked to clear them.

  Moril caught her arm and pulled her forward. After several steps, he veered toward the leading edge of the storm. Before she could protest, he pushed her to her knees. He fell beside her, directing her arm to a thin layer of sand. Her fingers broke through.

  An alcove. Shelter from the storm.

  Together, they shoveled sand away from the entrance, frantically tossing it to either side. Kaylie worried the hole would fill as quickly as they dug it, but desperation granted them speed. As soon as the opening was big enough, Moril nudged her through. He followed moments later.

  Their haven was a small cave with a sizable hole near the top of one wall. The storm covered their entrance quickly but, even with sand trickling through, they were safe. It was a cramped haven; it wouldn't have accommodated a third person. Wind howled and scraped outside. Kaylie shuddered. If they had come a minute later…

  Moril used the wood he'd been carrying for torches to make a small fire. Kaylie collapsed beside it, overwhelmed by terror and exhaustion. She didn't have room to stretch her legs, but she didn't care. She fell asleep the moment her head came to rest in the cradle of her crossed arms.

  ~*~*~*~

  If only Arimand could launch his torch into the sky long enough to survey his surroundings. He squinted into the gloom, transferring his weight from one foot to the other as the sand dune shifted beneath him. The air felt still. How long would that last?

  With a soft sigh, he abandoned his perch and returned to the waiting clan. He expected to find them resting rather than gathered in a tight knot holding a whispered conference. No one seemed to notice his approach, not even Eselt.

  “What's going on?” The sound of his voice startled the group. They parted, revealing Thail at their center. Arimand frowned. What nonsense was he rambling about now?

  “T…two sets of footprints,” he stammered, waving at the area lit by his lowered torch.

  Arimand glanced at the faded imprints. One set looked like a familiar combat boot, the other was smaller and less defined. How had the man spotted them without damaging them? He had keener eyes than an owl.

  “Then we're on the right track,” he said, uninterested in the rest of the conversation. Much like the scrap of fabric, he expected that simple statement to end the discussion.

  “Human footprints,” Thail snarled before anyone else could speak.

  Arimand's eyes narrowed. What he wouldn't give to rip out that man's tongue. “We know it can turn itself into a man whenever it wants.”

  “But why?” Wardel asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.

  Arimand shrugged. “To play games with Kaylie. To play games with us. Does it really matter?”

  Eselt extracted himself from the group. “What lies ahead?”

  “Desert. I'm not sure how stable the dunes are, and there's likely to be quicksand hidden somewhere. We won't know until our feet strike it.”

  “Of course.” Eselt snorted. “There's no chance the King of Hell would have gone easy with one of these regions.” They had managed to keep the clan clear of sudden drops and unexpected landslides while crossing the wastes, but not without several injuries. Their original numbers were greatly diminished, but there were still enough to fight one demon.

  “I'm worried most about the weather,” Arimand admitted. “You know the way wind tears through Hell. It's going to be a nightmare out there.”

  “At least we know which way to go.” Eselt indicated the footprints, once again surrounded by gawking members of the clan.

  Arimand shook his head. “We need to cut a more direct path through the desert. It's the only place we might be able to gain ground. It isn't enough to catch the demon, we have to beat it to the river.”

  “But why diverge when their tracks are clear?” Wardel protested.

  “I saw no tracks in the sand.” Arimand tightened his grip on his torch, swallowing the first flames of rage as they ignited. Wardel had questioned all of his decisions since their descent into the rocky wastes, no doubt because of his close connection to Thail. Arimand didn't have the time, or patience, for another argument. “My guess is the wind wiped them clean.”

  “The demon could have changed direction anywhere out there,” Eselt agreed.

  “It must have more information about this region of Hell than we do. If we stray, we might blunder into unseen d
anger.” Wardel probably thought he sounded reasonable, but Arimand wanted him to shut up. He would gladly break the man's jaw if that would speed the process.

  “We also have less protection from Hell's dangers than demons do.” Arimand tried to sound calm but speaking through clenched teeth broke the illusion. “Our party is larger and likely to have more difficulty finding protection from the elements. Can you imagine what a windstorm would be like out there?”

  “H…how do you know?” Thail stuttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “I have eyes,” Arimand snapped.

  “No, no, no. Not the wind.” Thail wrung his hands together, eyes darting nervously between Arimand and Wardel. Wardel offered an encouraging nod. “How do you know your path's better if the demon is traveling in human shape?”

  Arimand pursed his lips. “Have I misidentified the safe path yet?”

  Thail shook his head rapidly back and forth for several seconds before he stopped and stared at Arimand again. “But our path wasn't originally supposed to come through here…”

  Ah, so that's the problem. “We might not have come this direction, but we would have had to pass through a place like this sooner or later. My informant described this ring of Hell as a patchwork of macabre landscapes. That's one of the things which makes it so dangerous. He didn't know the exact location of the exit when he fled, and demons hounded him at every turn. He stumbled upon the doorway during his desperation to escape. And his information allowed me to plot a more direct course.”

  “You never knew exactly where it was?” Eselt's voice held a warning edge.

  “I knew enough. I went over his confession dozens of times before I spoke to Lady Kaylie. I wanted to make sure I could trace the map in my mind. And as soon as we reached this ring, I realized the patchwork nature of its composition would serve as a guide. Kaylie would be free by now if that damned demon hadn't run off with her.”