Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  In the wee hours of morning, unable to fight exhaustion any longer, Kaylie sought her fiancé. Curling on the couch beside him, she surrendered to sleep. His hand lay beneath hers, his heartbeat filled her ears, yet he was farther away than he had ever been. Even in dreams, she couldn't reach him. Had he felt this way while she slept? Had he pressed his lips to her cheeks and his ear to her chest? Had he shaken her shoulders and tried to call her back? Had his heart ached the way hers did now?

  She woke when the door creaked open, dread hanging like a lead weight in her stomach. She kissed each of Moril's eyes, stroked his cheeks and squeezed his hands, but still he didn't stir. Could she have saved him if she fled toward the ancient temple of the old gods rather than spending her night in the library? It was too late now, had been too late since the moment she awoke. The temple was days away and her father wouldn't wait.

  “Take her from this place,” the king commanded as she rose to block his party's path. It sounded mangled in her memory, as though spoken by some hellish beast.

  “Please,” she sobbed as the guards grasped her arms and dragged her away, “at least let me hold his hand!”

  The slamming door still echoed in her ears.

  Kaylie bit her tongue until she tasted blood. Bright sunlight seared her eyes when she opened them. She cursed whatever force allowed the day of her beloved's death to dawn with warmth and glory.

  Flowers of every color danced in the breeze outside her window. Tree branches swayed. A butterfly shuffled past. Many a happy day Kaylie had spent with Moril in those gardens. They should have run between those flowerbeds, chasing their own children in the years to come.

  “I cannot abide it,” she told the rising sun. “His death does not deter me.”

  She reached behind her back and pulled an object from her belt. A dagger, stolen from Moril's boot during her final vigil. The flowing folds of her skirt had concealed it all morning.

  While the palace roused from sleep, she had prepared. But now that the moment had come, she hesitated.

  “You cannot turn back,” she scolded herself, hoping the sound of her voice would dispel her doubts. “You have already set events in motion.”

  She had one chance. It had to be now.

  She would deny the King of Hell his victory. If she couldn't restore Moril's life, she must at least free his soul.

  Kaylie closed the curtains, shrouding her room in shadows. She knelt beside her bed, using the sturdy frame for support. Her hands shook as she balanced the dagger between her legs. Her long skirts got in the way. After several false attempts, she managed to pin the blade in an upright position.

  Drawing deep breaths, Kaylie set her wrists on either side of the dagger. If there was a proper way to do this, she wasn't aware of it. She knew how to handle small weapons; Moril had seen the wisdom in training the kingdom's sole heir to protect herself. But his lessons hadn't included tips for slitting her own wrists.

  Her first foray into Hell hadn't required drastic action. But it had included mages, whose chanting sustained her body while she was absent. When her father denied her access to those resources, he forgot there was one surefire way to reach Hell.

  Think of nothing but your destination and your purpose.

  Exhaling, she drew her wrists across the blade.

  It hurt more than she expected. She blinked, staring at the tiny red rivers as they flowed across her skirts. Life fled from her body faster than she anticipated. She tried to sag against her bed but sank, instead, onto the floor.

  Light flowed through the spaces between and beneath her curtains. The colored portions of her room, illuminated by those bright spaces, began to bleed together. As her vision faded, even light and darkness seemed to blend until they were one. Long lost lovers, reunited.

  Heat fled from her. Numbing cold seeped into her bones and froze her limbs in place. As her heart faltered, her power flared to life. It offered neither warmth nor comfort, only a path she could follow.

  In her last moment of consciousness, she thought she heard a flurry of footsteps beyond her barricade.

  ~*~*~*~

  Moril tried to mark the halls as a pair of muscular demons dragged him back to his cell. He couldn't determine more than the direction of the torture chambers and the distance between doors, but it might prove useful. Except his vision was blurred, his temples pounded and it was difficult to gain his bearings when he couldn't keep his feet beneath him. If one of his companions did manage to escape their cell in the next several hours, they could at least follow the trail his blood left until it joined countless others.

  While the demons paused to unlock a door, one of them relinquished his grip on Moril's shoulder. If he was going to bolt, now would be the prime opportunity. Except he couldn't stand under his own power. Every muscle in his body burned from the tender attentions of his demon attendants.

  The moment the door creaked open, the second demon tossed him unceremoniously through the opening. He landed in a heap near the center of the grated floor. His bleary eyes focused on the pristinely polished surface of a familiar boot and Moril's empty stomach lurched.

  “It's so good of you to join us,” the King of Hell purred. “I hope you've been enjoying My hospitality.”

  If only Moril could summon the strength to rake his nails across that too-handsome face, to shove his fingers into an eye socket or yank a lock of hair free of the scalp. What a pathetic creature he was, wishing his tormenter would go away and allow him the paltry comfort afforded by hanging from his chains in silence.

  He gathered as much liquid as his dry mouth could muster, most of it blood, and spat at Lucifer's feet.

  With a disgusted sigh, Lucifer motioned to the demons still flanking his prisoner. Both launched clawed feet at Moril's ribs, driving the air from his lungs.

  “Leave him alone,” Eselt snarled. “Shouldn't he be free of you by now?”

  Lucifer laughed, his boots scuffing the stone as he spun. “By what divine grace, Eselt? His soul was already here when he died, so here it shall remain. Unless he can reach the river Styx, but I doubt any of you could navigate the labyrinth of My dungeons, even if I let you free to do so. Perhaps we will try it someday; it would make an amusing game.”

  Moril hoisted himself with one elbow, coughing and spitting more blood as he tried to catch his breath. Each time he almost succeeded, one of the demons gleefully drove its toes into another bruised area of his body.

  “That's enough,” Lucifer hissed over his shoulder.

  The demons abandoned their game and hauled Moril to the back of the cell where they returned him to his shackles. Rather than soothe his battered back, the cold stone wall only aggravated a hundred cuts and scratches.

  He missed Eselt's answering volley in the jangle of chains and the rush of blood in his ears while he finally caught his breath. From the sound of it, the short man had an extensive vocabulary of curses and didn't spare their host a single one.

  “And what have you done with Dwenba?” he demanded, not pausing to draw breath. “None of us believe you've got an ounce of mercy in you, so there's no use pretending!”

  Eselt worried constantly about the fate to which Dwenba had been condemned. No amount of reassurance from his fellows seemed to placate him. If he ever did get free of his bonds, Eselt would probably storm straight into Chelal Ogdul to look for her rather than try to escape.

  “If you have shown the woman mercy,” Moril's voice sounded raw and each word scratched his throat, “what harm could there be in allowing Eselt to witness proof?”

  Of the two complaints, Lucifer evidently found Moril's more amusing. A wicked grin split his lips as he leaned close, murmuring in a conspiratorial tone, “Such concern for a woman you've never met. Souls are not damned by My whimsy, Moril. Take Dwenba, for example. Why do you suppose she is here?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. People like you are so shortsighted. Your beloved princess suffered the same affliction. You
look at the souls languishing in My realm and believe they are to be pitied, that no one could ever deserve such treatment.”

  Moril believed no such thing. Though in retrospect, he should have been kinder to the souls escorting his beloved through Hell. They were certainly worthy of his regard. But he wisely bit his tongue and allowed the demon lord to continue his tirade.

  “Take Dwenba for example. She was damned for murdering both her young children. She gave them tea laced with poison. Does such an abhorrent mother really deserve mercy?”

  “You damned lying demon!” Eselt howled, thrashing against his bonds, jostling Moril in the process. “That's only half the truth. Dwenba had to do what she did! The Black Knights were coming. They roamed the countryside in her time, thieving and destroying every village they came across. Dwenba heard the stories and she knew what they did to women and children after they killed all the men and looted all the buildings. She couldn't let her children's lives end that way. She spared their souls for Heaven, giving them poison-laced tea so they would die peacefully in their sleep. Don't you think no ill of her, Moril, not based on anything this one says! He wants to make out she was a terrible woman while she lived, but it ain't never been true! It was brave, what she did, and she didn't even try to save herself afterward.”

  “Then it was a noble deed,” Moril agreed. “She sacrificed her soul to save those of her children.” Much as he had sacrificed his to set Kaylie free.

  The King of Hell drew back, lips twisted with disgust. Clearly, his words had not achieved their desired effect. “Do not make the mistake of believing all who enter the outskirts of My realm are so noble in their damnation. Shall we talk of your sins, My dear Eselt?”

  The short man growled, fire burning in his eyes. But he pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing.

  “One night, after a few too many tankards of ale, Eselt took a bar maiden to his room. Do you know what happened there, Moril?” There was a disgusting amount of glee in Lucifer's voice. “He forced himself on her until his lusts were satiated. In the morning, when he realized what he had done, he threatened the poor woman rather than abasing himself for his mistake. The only way free of the situation was never to speak a word of what transpired, or so he claimed. He would disappear and leave all trace of his crimes behind so long as she held her tongue. That is the truth of the matter, is it not?”

  Eselt hung his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. Still, he said nothing.

  “There's more.” Lucifer added a sweeping gesture to the statement, obviously enjoying the effect of his words on his captive. “Before Eselt departed to keep his end of the bargain, the young maiden blossomed with pregnancy. Now, it was well known among her peers in the village that she had never laid with anyone else. She hadn't quite fancied any of the local boys, you see. And so, Eselt was forced to claim the child as his own. Rather than abandon the woman and her child to the life of outcasts, he married her, forcing his victim to remain by his side for the rest of his miserable life. Forcing her to speak words of love and praise to maintain their happy illusion. He treated her well enough. She may even have convinced herself she loved him. But even a lifetime of effort couldn't erase the stain on his soul.

  “All your lady love's companions were similarly sullied. Wardel, over there, allowed an entire village to die because he did not deign to share their troubles. Kimuli, whom you delivered into My prisons, spent his life leaching off the hard work of others, stealing as he and his companions pleased. And Sulard, the man you so graciously mauled, sold his only daughter into marriage slavery so the rest of his family could live more comfortably. Then there's Thail. He was the worst of all. It's too bad he doesn't seem to have survived the struggle by the river. I had plans for him and his loose tongue.

  “So, Moril, what do you think of your companion now?”

  Disgust knotted Moril's stomach, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. How could a man treat a woman that way? It certainly shattered his image of Eselt as a righteous protector. Perhaps he had only taken that mantle in Hell, viewing Kaylie's situation as a means of redeeming his prior mistakes. His miserable expression and empty, wooden stare were proof enough of his guilt.

  But to what degree had the King of Hell spoken truth? Were there details about Eselt's arrangement with his wife the demon left out? Eselt, it seemed, wouldn't refute a word of it. Perhaps he believed himself worthy of every disdain. And perhaps he was. But if Moril condemned him, he would give the King of Hell exactly what he wanted.

  “Who am I to judge a man?” he asked at last, meeting the demon lord's gaze. “Especially a man from another time whom I barely know.”

  Lucifer's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. The light beneath his skin seemed to flare momentarily, unholy fire lighting his eyes. His claws closed around Moril's neck.

  Moril held his breath, expecting sharp pain and burning lungs to overwhelm him quickly.

  “We shall see how long this high opinion of your treasured companion lasts,” Lucifer hissed as his grip grew tighter. “It shouldn't take him long to reveal his tr-”

  The clawed hand fell abruptly away from Moril's neck. The King of Hell turned, his laughter filling the small space, echoing off the walls before bouncing back to its source.

  Moril's blood turned to ice. He recognized that laughter from the moment his mortal life terminated.

  Lucifer practically pranced to the door. “Oh, this is rich! Too rich! You must all excuse Me. I have a guest to greet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six: The Forbidding Forest

  Blistering heat and stifling humidity hung in the air, making every breath a struggle. Kaylie stood slowly, trying to gain her bearings. She meant to transport herself to the entry hall of Chelal Ogdul as she had before. Something had gone wrong.

  A massive forest surrounded her. Ancient trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches twined in primal embraces to create the canopy. Sunlight speared through breaks in the leaves, shining in bright clusters here, choked by shadows elsewhere. No birds sang. No insects buzzed. The forest was silent.

  The Forbidding Forest; resting place of suicides. The deepest ring of Hell that souls can inhabit.

  For the first time in her life, Kaylie was alone. There would be no clans to guide her, no guards to protect her and no mages to bolster her. She knelt at the base of a huge tree, one hand resting on the gnarled, twisting roots that protruded from the ground around it. She bowed her head and pulled her knees against her chest. Despair cascaded through her like a waterfall.

  She couldn't hope to reach Chelal Ogdul in time to make a difference. She knew firsthand the vast distance she would have to travel. Even in an inner ring, the journey would take weeks. She might be able to demand passage if she could reach the demon city, but she had no idea how deep into the forest her sin had carried her.

  She couldn't bear the thought of failing her beloved a third time. Had he felt this way when he arrived to search for her? He may not have known the best way to accomplish his task, but he had never given up. How many impossible things had she experienced in the last two months?

  Weight lay in her chest. Silent voices urged her to give in to despair, to curl on the ground and wait for hopelessness to carry her away. She was all too familiar with Hell's apathetic lullaby. She fought it.

  Locking Moril's face in her mind, she traced the familiar features in her memory. The particular curl of his short hair. The glimmer of mirth in his emerald eyes. The softness and admiration on his face whenever they greeted each other.

  She had to try.

  Kaylie struggled to her feet. Already she regretted that she hadn't paused to change her clothes. Her long skirts hindered her progress even if she hiked them high above her ankles. The oppressive heat pressed on her shoulders, making the feather-light layers a heavy burden. Sweat poured down her neck and chest, soaking the fine fabric. She could do little more than stumble from tree trunk to tree trunk, gasping for breath between steps, forcing herself to move f
orward. Every time dangling vines brushed her shoulders, she shuddered, reminded of the nightmare tendrils in the fourth ring swamp.

  Though she hadn't reached her intended destination, her power hadn't abandoned her. A blazing golden trail lit the way, weaving between trees and patches of thick undergrowth. The same trail must have guided Moril's steps on their journey to the river. The memory of her obstinance galled her into continued motion.

  As the day wore on, she searched desperately for a source of water. She knew better than to drink from Hell's rivers, but it would be nice to douse herself with something cool. Despite the humidity, the leaves of every tree and bush were devoid of moisture. Brambles caught the hem of her skirts, leaving a trail of torn silk in her wake.

  Doubt surged with every stumble, scratch and bump. Could she be any more useless? First she rejected her beloved's help and denied their relationship, now she couldn't even reach his prison. What good was her conviction if it never bore fruit?

  She shook her head. How many of those voices lived within her and how many came from the forest? She tried to keep her focus on the journey, on the placement of her feet, but doubts wormed their way into her brain and sank their claws deep.

  Perhaps it was a good thing she'd taken the blade to her wrists and spared the world from her inability to rule.

  No. Kaylie sank to her knees, pressing her palms to her closed eyes. I did that for Moril. To save him from this gods forsaken place.

  She fought back to her feet and stumbled on.

  By the time the sun set, she shuffled in a daze. Her fiery hair clung to her neck, back and shoulders, its restraining pins lost to the undergrowth. She had torn large chunks free of her skirt to shorten it, but it hadn't lightened her load.

  The first of night's bitter winds tore through the forest, making her shiver. She needed to find shelter or she would freeze.

  Seeing no alternative, Kaylie pressed herself into the shelter formed by an ancient tree's twisting roots. Once more she folded her knees to her chest and laid her forehead against them. At this pace, she'd never reach her destination. She hadn't covered enough distance to make a difference. And even if she could reach Dulanthaglaia, its demon denizens might not recognize her. They might fall on her the moment she crossed the threshold, as they would any other damned soul.