by Megan Cutler
Arimand's intentions were clear; he would grant no mercy to the man who robbed him of his prize. It seemed his former companions would share Moril's fate.
“Now, now,” Arimand purred over the din. “Don't kill them all. That would ruin My fun.”
Escaping the reaching claws and dodging the gaping maws of his enemies consumed Moril's attention. But he did catch glimpses of Arimand between demonic bodies throughout the desperate battle. Each time he looked different.
Instead of pale, his skin took on a reddish cast, not caused by the light which emanated from his body. His hair grew longer, glossier. Once, his eyes blazed the color of blood, possessing a glow of their own.
If anyone maintained doubt as to his identity, the appearance of his bat-like wings banished them. Their musculature was ruby red and their membranes were black; darker than his midnight hair and deeper than the surrounding darkness, as if they were cut from the void itself.
Rather than slaying the hopeless defenders, the demons overcame them one by one. Two impish creatures seized the short man who had confronted Moril, twisting his arms behind his back. Larger demons pinned others, threatening to crush the life out of them.
Even as Moril swatted an imp from the air, one of those paws closed around him, knocking his sword from his grasp. He wondered if Kaylie felt the same surge of panic when he lifted her from the ground.
The fist squeezed hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. As darkness closed around his vision, Moril caught one last glimpse of Arimand standing below his captor. He seemed taller, though lack of air might have distorted Moril's vision.
The King of Hell cackled. “Please extend these guests My invitation to Chelal Ogdul.”
~*~*~*~
Concentrate on your body. Moril's words echoed in the vaults of Kaylie's mind as the icy river closed around her. Did she have a living body waiting for her?
Do not doubt.
An image flashed behind her eyelids. It was herself, lying on a soft bed of cushions. Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful. A grey-haired man knelt by her side, squeezing her hand between both of his. Her father!
Moril was telling the truth!
Kaylie's lungs burned. Shouldn't she drown?
The water numbed her arms and legs, making it difficult to move. She gazed at the image of herself in bed. It was like looking through a mirror at a distant reflection.
The voices swelled in her ears and, finally, she deciphered the chanted words. The arcane invocations that sustained her body during her absence. The desperate petitions calling her back to her body. Her father's voice begging her to come home.
How close had she been to departing Hell every time she closed her eyes? If she had been able to summon the image of herself, would she have been able to will herself home, as Moril suggested?
With great effort, Kaylie pulled her arms through the water, reaching for the girl lying in bed.
Warmth suffused her. Fire started in her lungs and burst outward, tingling up her arms and down her legs.
She felt pressure against her hand. It came from her father. His voice stood out among the others like a beacon.
Kaylie's body burned. Bright light filled her vision, sweeping her sight away. Had she been transported to the Phlegethon? Had the Styx begun to boil? She withered, melting in the heat.
Soft air brushed her cheek accompanied by the smell of flowers. A breeze from an open window? Gentle light filled the space outside her eyes, casting her gaze in red. Fluffy cushions shifted beneath her as she stirred. Instead of stiff, her muscles felt renewed.
Memories filled her mind. For the first time in ages, she was complete. Her lips parted and she drew breath. Her first breath, like that of a phoenix risen new from ashes.
“Moril?” Her voice, barely more than a whisper, sounded strange to her ears.
Recent memories supplanted the old, shattering the blissful moment. When she received no answer, her eyes fluttered open, frantically scanning the room.
He should have awakened with her, should have been drawn out of Hell as the power holding them there returned to its source. But she hadn't initiated the process, hadn't realized she needed to. And now it was too late. She was already past the threshold, back on the mortal side of the barrier.
The river should still bring him home. He had only been a few feet from the water when she entered. In demon form, nothing could keep him from crossing that distance. Unless…
Her chest constricted, pushing a painful, panicked plea through her lips. “Moril!”
Part Three: Awaken the Dreamer
Now is time to leave those things brightly gleaming
Things are not as they have been seeming
Come away from night’s golden scheming
Leave behind the dark of Night
Come back to the world of Light
Let the haze fall from your sight
Awaken Dreamer from your Dreaming
Come back to those you’ve been forsaking
Save our hearts this terrible aching
We need you back there’s no mistaking
Though sweet music fills your ears
And the dream conceals your fears
Answer please to all our tears
Come Dreamer you must be waking
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Dreamer Awake
Arms restrained Kaylie as she tried to rise, forcing her back to the cushions. She flailed, but the opposition was stronger and more organized. The flutter of green fabric marked the arrival of Healers as mages sighed and sagged into nearby chairs.
Frantic voices shouted from every direction.
“Please, my lady, you must rest!”
“Let us care for you.”
“You're going to hurt yourself!”
Kaylie didn't care. She had to see Moril, had to apologize for the terrible things she said while her mind was empty.
“Let her rise.” It seemed like a lifetime since she heard the voice that silenced all the others. The voice of her father.
Various huffs and grunts greeted the command, but the arms restraining Kaylie relented. She threw herself against the slack, rolling off the couch when she met no resistance. Moril had to be close if he'd been using her magic to travel between worlds. But the moment she tried to stand, her head spun and the breath rushed out of her lungs.
Strong arms slid beneath her shoulders. They, too, belonged to her father. Grasping his elbows, Kaylie leaned into his support as he helped her rise. She flexed her feet, marveling at the lack of blisters. Her muscles ached only dully from lack of use, rather than burning with overexertion as they had moments ago. All her ills had vanished — the cuts, scratches and singes — leaving only the ache in her chest.
She scanned the room to regain her bearings. After months of dingy grey landscape, the colorful carpet and wallpaper stung her eyes. Birdsong poured through the window, carried by a gentle breeze and accompanied by the soft perfume of flowers. Had the world ever been more full of life than it was at this moment?
Moril lay propped on a couch two steps away. His eyes were still closed, his face serene. A silken blanket covered all but his right arm, which hung limp at his side. Until a few moments ago, he must have been holding her hand.
Kaylie crossed the space with careful, tentative steps and knelt at his side. She brushed her fingers down his cheeks. He didn't react.
Panic seized her heart, squeezing so hard she thought it would burst. She leaned close, perching her lips next to her lover's ear. “Moril?” she murmured. He had been in the demon form when he threw her. Surely no manner of might mustered by her former companions could keep him from following. Hadn't they heard her cry in Hell? Didn't they know how important Moril was?
With strength summoned from some hidden reserve, Kaylie grasped Moril's shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. She shook him as tears streamed down her cheeks, calling his name between sobs.
He never flinched or moaned. His eyes remained moti
onless. His arms flopped limply at his sides. Why wouldn't he wake? Why couldn't she wake him?
The voices renewed their chatter. She ignored them. Hands pried her fingers from Moril's body. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and drew her away. She buried her head in her hands to muffle her sobs. Tears dripped through the cracks between her fingers.
Only one force could prevent Moril reaching the river. What torment awaited him in the demonic dungeons beneath Chelal Ogdul? Who else would the King of Hell drag with him? Or would he simply slay her companions?
“You need to rest,” her father's voice chided. She allowed him to guide her from the room and down the hall. Familiar flooring passed beneath her feet, blurred by the tears still blotting her vision. She swatted the moisture from the edges of her eyes, but there was always more to replace it.
Only after they passed through the familiar doorway to her room did she find her voice. “How long?”
“A month and two days,” her father replied as he pressed her into a chair. Rather than fuss, he brushed past her and opened the curtains, spilling bright sunlight into the room. “Believe me, child, I marked every day of it.”
The weeks spent crossing Ethilirotha in story with the clan children and drifting down the flaming Phlegethon. The endless trudge outside the prisons. Her mad flight across the desert with Moril. All of that in the span of a month. Thinking on it now, the time she spent clinging to Arimand's shoulders as he carried her on his back made her shudder. Why hadn't she listened to Moril? He would be here now but for her hesitation.
The king laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let the servants help you to bed.”
“I've slept for a month. I have no desire to sleep more of my life away.”
“Then, would you like a bath, my lady?” one of the maids asked from the doorway. “We've already begun heating the water.”
“That will do,” Kaylie agreed.
Her father laid a kiss on her forehead before he departed.
Kaylie allowed the palace servants to strip her dirty clothing away and discard it. The hot bathwater felt soothing against her skin. She tried to relax, tried to let the heat carry her troubles away. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she never felt clean. She scrubbed until her skin turned pink, but the grime lurked beneath her skin. It might cling to her soul forever if she couldn't find a way to free Moril from his prison.
Servants waited with a fresh set of clothes when she emerged from the tub. They brushed her hair and rubbed sweet smelling oils into the strands. She watched their work from another world.
No sooner had the maids shuffled out than did the Healers return. They urged her to sleep but, still, she refused. She feared sliding back into Hell the moment she closed her eyes, irrational though she knew the concern to be. She wanted to walk the gardens, visit the city, check on the recovery of her kingdom, but she could barely walk between her vanity and her bed.
The Healers offered food instead. She accepted, eagerly devouring the meal they set in front of her, though it hardly rejuvenated her. The hot tea soothed her throat, if not her sorrow. How wonderful to taste things again!
Of all the activities clamoring for her attention, Kaylie settled on visiting the library. She might find something there to solve Moril's predicament. But the moment she stood, her knees turned to mush. She wobbled and swayed on her feet.
The Healers caught her and shuffled her off to bed. Only as they tucked the blankets over her body did she realize what they had done. Valerian in her tea. It had been so long, she'd forgotten the taste.
Exhaustion quickly overcame the last of her resistance. She expected icy wind to howl as it closed around her, expected a frantic chorus to crescendo in her ears. But her blankets were warm and sleep, when it came, was blissfully dreamless.
~*~*~*~
Kaylie arrived in the sitting room dressed in a resplendent gown of emerald silk trimmed in gold. Her hair had been brushed, braided and pinned in an intricate pattern atop her head. A few stray curls wriggled free, framing her face like tiny tendrils of flame.
A second scrub hadn't helped her feel cleaner. Her servants forced her from the tub when they caught her rubbing one arm raw. It was difficult to resist scratching and scraping, even with her father's eyes upon her. How many years would it take to scrub her soul clean? Would those hidden bruises and blisters ever heal?
Night had long since fallen, but a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. Her father rose to embrace her before indicating a chair beside his. “Come, my daughter, sit with me.”
Kaylie sank into the soft upholstery, allowing herself a moment of indulgence. It had been a long time since she felt comfortable. But even surrounded by warmth, she shivered.
Moril was still trapped in that terrible place. He would find no solace in the devil's dungeons. She tried not to imagine what had become of the rest of her former companions. Their fate was out of her hands, but Moril she could save.
“Moril said the black magics plaguing our land ceased,” she said before her father could unleash a torrent of questions. “Is it true?”
“Indeed. Both the land and its people are well on their way to recovery thanks to you.” The king's unusually hard eyes softened and a grateful smile parted his lips. Lornaltas Serdray was a hard, strict man, but he had never been unkind. After the passing of his wife, he had let himself go. His grey hair was wild, his long beard unkempt. But he remained wise and capable, a man to be admired.
After a moment of silence he said, “I wish to know what transpired in Hell.”
A lump rose in Kaylie's throat. Thus far she had thought only of the terrible things she said to her beloved on their journey to the Styx. She had called him a liar and a demon, then claimed to love another man. All his pained expressions skewered her heart anew now that she saw the truth clearly.
Moril had always been a gentle soul. He spent his youth standing up for children bullied in the streets by those who fancied themselves better. He joined the Royal Guard early and quickly earned the position of captain. He would do anything to protect the citizens of Corvala, no matter their class. His recent actions proved as much.
Despite being several years her senior, Moril had never been demanding or forceful. Even his proposal had been hesitant, until she laughed and told him to get on with it. Her greatest source of torment was that her affection for Arimand had been genuine.
Her father must have noticed the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. He clapped his hands and a page appeared in the doorway. “Bring food for the two of us,” he commanded. “The princess needs a proper hot meal, instead of the herbal concoctions the Healers have been feeding her.”
The page bowed and scurried away. Servants delivered a table from another room and set it with fine silver and a large candelabrum. All the while, Kaylie struggled to maintain her composure.
Corvala's king needed to know what transpired in Hell. To protect his people from the mounting war, he would have to sway at least two of the emperors to his cause. One ally might not have enough influence to keep the others from invading. No doubt Moril had understood the urgency of the situation. And her father had a right to know what had happened to his daughter.
But speaking of her journey would require her to reflect on those events with new perspective. It had been bad enough when she believed she was damning Dwenba and the others to gain her freedom; now she knew the whole journey had been pointless. She could have left whenever she wished. She had dragged kind souls, damned though they were, into the depths of Hell's torment because of foolish naivety.
By the time the servants ferried the first dishes into the room, Kaylie had swallowed enough of the lump in her throat to speak.
“The King of Hell greeted me the moment I arrived in his hall. It was almost as if he was waiting for my arrival. He had an eerie smile. I think it was meant to be charming. He bowed and applauded my skill at unraveling his plot. At the time, I thought he was mocking me.”
Well done, princess of Corvala. Yo
u shall make a fine replacement for your father.
Kaylie shuddered. “I did my best to prove I wasn't intimidated. In the seat of his power, I knew there was little I could do if he tried to overwhelm me. But he seemed focused on verbal sparring. I was careful not to insult him. I knew that would be the end of me. But I tried not to stroke his ego either. He suggested we conclude our negotiations over dinner.”
She paused as the servants filled her plate, lifting a polished fork to prod the various dishes. Some of her favorite foods lay before her, obviously fresh from the palace ovens. Yet she choked on the first bites. It was hard to forget the divine spread the King of Hell offered. Food from every corner of the world adorned his table, and several things she guessed had only ever been prepared for the gods. Kaylie had been careful which foods she sampled, knowing the wrong choice could trap her in Hell or doom her to something worse.
Her stomach twisted. She set her fork aside, sipping cool water until the knot loosened. She felt her father's eyes on her, heavy with expectation. Slowly she lifted a small bite to her lips. After months of stringy food and agony inducing water, followed by weeks of burning hunger and thirst, this meal tasted better than even the King of Hell's feast.
Avoiding talk of Hell's food and decor, Kaylie focused on their discussion. “I checked everything I ate carefully. I didn't know what to do if he tried to poison me, but my abilities allowed me to determine the food set in front of me was safe. I made no promises during the negotiations, but focused on requests. I knew that the wrong word would allow him to trap me in one of his contracts.
“He seemed strangely agreeable. Looking back, it should have been a warning. He refused to say why he attacked Corvala. At the time, I thought his intention was to start the war and stir up trouble in the mortal realm. Perhaps that was my undoing.