Cinderella's Inferno

by F. M. Boughan

  “He brought one better,” said a familiar voice.

  “Father!” I gaped at the sight of him, dressed in dark clothing and a long black cape that fastened at his neck with a silver brooch. I’d never seen such an outfit on my father before. He stood at the edge of the shadows along the palace wall. “What are you doing here?”

  The shadows surrounding him shifted. William took my hand as Peter, Lorenz, and a woman I didn’t recognize appeared, each bearing a satchel similar to my own. The woman wore the same fashion as the men, but, as most women did, also sported a covering for her head. Unlike the garish hats of the day, however, hers was a simple cloth binding that appeared far more comfortable.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I whirled on William. “What are they doing here?”

  But it was my father who spoke first. “Did you truly think you could journey into the Abyss alone, daughter?”

  “Not alone,” I said. “With William. A trained paladin.”

  “You play with dangerous forces.” He sighed, and I saw the weary lines upon his face. The years had aged him, no matter how he tried to present a picture of health and youth to Edward and me.

  “Edward!” The thought of him caused me to set narrowed eyes on William and my father in turn. “Who will care for Edward if you come?”

  My father looked past my shoulder. “Liesl has already agreed. She’ll look in on him and he’ll spend his days at the shop. He has lessons to occupy him, and Miss Agathe will see to it that he’s watched over during the night at home.”

  “And should something happen to us while we’re gone?”

  “Ah, so you do understand what a foolish venture this is.”

  Fury welled in my belly. I hadn’t fought and defeated Celia and my stepsisters—and countless demons besides, these past few years—and learned nothing. I understood very well the danger inherent in necromantic magic. I understood perhaps better than he did.

  “I implore you to examine your words very carefully, Father,” I said. “And consider the depth of my craft.”

  I did not mean to do what I did next.

  I raised my palm and, without actively willing it, simply by mere force of want, drew the eager spirit of before to my side. The smoky form leaped from my fingertips and rushed toward my father—and stopped a hair’s breadth from his own palm. I saw the surprise on his face, the shock of his daughter’s blatant display of power despite the lack of present threat. The disbelief that I had pulled this spirit to my side without an iota of effort.

  “Foolish or not,” I said, speaking slowly and with great care, “I will do this. I won’t ask you to come. I don’t ask your approval. I haven’t needed it for a very long time. Attend me if you must, but know that you do not hold sway over my actions. You will follow my lead—not the reverse.”

  “She’s my wife,” he said, teeth gritted.

  “She’s my mother,” I countered. “I am her very flesh and blood.”

  Oh, to have been a blade of grass beneath our feet. We stood, father and daughter, locked in a battle of wills, until one of William’s men cleared his throat.

  “Your Highness,” he said. “The night grows deep and morning light comes quickly. If you wish to depart before the young miss’s absence is noticed … ”

  Of course. I nearly shifted my gaze, but it was my father who wavered first, and I felt perhaps a mite too exultant in such a small victory. Still, I felt as though I had been granted approval, however slight, for what we were about to attempt—but first, I needed to ensure that everyone present truly grasped my intent. Particularly the person whose face I didn’t recognize.

  I narrowed my attentions on the woman dressed in a paladin’s garb. “I know most faces at the palace, but I’ve not seen yours before.”

  She smiled with restraint. “I’m Samia.” She didn’t extend her hand or defer with any type of gesture, so I also refrained.

  “Have you been with the Paladin Council long?”

  Her smile used only one side of her mouth, but it was still lovely to see. “No, not long at all. Did you know Cromer?” I told her I did. “He’s visiting my family’s kingdom in the East while I’m here. There are others from various councils also doing the same.”

  I frowned, for William had said nothing of such an initiative. “A political alliance?”

  “More an exchange of concepts and ideas. You have your theologians in the West, and we have ours.”

  “Are you a theologian? Or a warrior?”

  Her black eyebrows, full and softly curved, raised at my confusion. “Your Paladin Council may operate by assigning labels in one way or another, but there are many ways of thinking. My Council represents another, and the hope is that through this exchange of ideas and time spent in each other’s company, we’ll prevent misunderstanding and hostility in future days.”

  It seemed a sound way to learn from those with different knowledge, beliefs, and practices, and I suspected all parties would emerge changed and bettered because of it.

  Satisfied and honored by her perceived willingness to join us, I spoke as loud as I dared to address the rest of the assembled company.

  “Are you all aware of what you’re being asked to do?” Slight nods and deferred glances at William suggested that they were not, in fact, fully aware of the risk. “Two years ago, I banished my stepmother back into the Abyss. She took my brother with her, and yet he lives today, whole and unharmed.” I swallowed hard on the truth I omitted: that we could not be fully certain of either of these things, now that he saw ghostly shades where I saw none. “And so, I intend to re-crack the earth, descend beneath, and retrieve my mother. Yes, she has been dead these past years. But I also believe she suffers unjustly as a result of my selfish doings, and I vow to find a way to either free her from the fires of torment and return her to heaven’s grace—or bring her home. I know not what awaits in the descent. I only know that the way will be difficult and fraught with peril. Still, I choose this path. If it can be done, I will find a way. I will return my mother’s spirit to its rightful place, or I will not return at all.”

  My father stepped forward, and this time there could be no mistaking the fear fixed between his brows. “Ellison—”

  I held a palm up to silence his protests. “Who’s with me?”

  Silence. Utter silence, save the crickets in the tall grass. The night breeze through the trees. The rustling of Liesl’s skirts as she struggled to maintain composure. If she broke, I would break too.

  And then, William. Always William. “I am with you,” he said. “Until the end.”

  “As am I,” said Lorenz. And Peter. And Samia.

  Until only my father’s allegiance remained to be declared. His eyes had grown wet with tears, shoulders stooped in resignation—or perhaps relief?

  “I still love her,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I miss her so much.”

  “As do I,” I said. “That is why I do this.”

  After a moment, he nodded once. A final gesture. “Then I’m with you, too,” he said, and my heart’s burden grew lighter.

  “It is decided,” I said, hoisting the straps of my bag higher on my shoulders. “At dawn’s first light, we descend into hell.”

  11

  The Rending

  It is no secret that the moments between the shifting of the light—dawn into morning, twilight into dusk—is when the veil between our world and the spirit realm is at its thinnest. At full day and full night, it is as though heavy curtains are drawn across the barrier, but even the heaviest drapery on the smallest window will see light creeping around its edges, and it is much the same with the unseen realms.

  At the edges of dawn or in the midst of the twilight hour, the barrier can be likened to filmy curtains behind the heavy ones—thin, not quite transparent but enough so to catch a glimpse of movement on the other side. Were there no glass, one might conceivably reach through the flimsy fabric and grasp hold of some
thing on the other side.

  This is the way I’d learned to see the world since Celia’s banishment, and the more I relegated demons and spirits back to their place beyond the veil, the easier it became to reach across without ritual or fanfare. That is, until we stood at the cemetery gate, and I began to wonder if perhaps I had overestimated my abilities.

  “Are you certain you can open the way again?” William spoke quiet words only for my ears. He took my hand and squeezed once, waiting, but I had no answer to give, for we had come this far and I was determined not to fail. How I wished William had brought The Book of Conjuring instead of my father. I would have preferred to pore over its pages in search of assistance rather than rely on one man’s memory.

  We stood along the cemetery wall, beside the fencing that separated hallowed ground from grassy field. Who could ever tell that only a few years ago, the earth here had split and swallowed a great evil? Who would know that all these stones had been crushed to dust, that the trees and flowers hadn’t been the same since Celia’s destruction? The graveyard looked peaceful and whole, a place to rest and refresh.

  I closed my eyes and waited. I was uncertain what I waited for until it came. I felt a tremor as the daylight pushed against the dark of night. The sky had become awash with the shades of morning, and I sensed rather than saw the way. I spread my arms wide, splaying my fingers. William placed his hand on my shoulder—my anchor, my strength. But then my father placed his hand across my other shoulder and earned a sharp look.

  “Who do you draw from?” I demanded. If he drew life essence from Edward, I would forbid his company. He and I had both sworn that vow to renounce our dark practices, and only I had broken it. If he did this, he broke it too, and I doubted the king would be as lenient on my father as with me.

  He shook his head, but I would do nothing without knowing. “Who?”

  Finally, he spoke with a sigh. “You, daughter. I will lend you my strength only, unless you have need of my assistance. Then I will draw from you, and His Highness will be doubly taxed. I won’t act without reason.”

  “Is that possible?” I’d never heard of such a thing.

  His smile was not a true smile but a grimace. “I love you and your brother equally.”

  So we were both ‘the one most loved,’ the life essence of the one we loved most being the immutable price of our conjurings. I supposed that made sense. And to be doubly taxed, well, I knew William had the strength for it. But did I?

  “Now, Ellison,” my father murmured. “The shades are nearly drawn.”

  I closed my eyes again, sensing the space around us. I began to mull over Edward’s capture two years ago, feeding the anger from where it roiled in my belly. I wove the memories into pictures, reliving the fury and pain, feeling the bruises of my stepsisters, the weariness of our battle inside the palace chapel before racing here, to this very patch of earth, to save my brother’s life.

  I gathered my will and my rage and pushed it into the earth at my feet, demanding that it open. I slammed my intention into the grass and the dirt and the rocks below, over and over, and yet … it did not give way.

  I had done this once before. I could do it again.

  “Quickly,” my father urged, and although his rushing wasn’t helpful, the truth remained that we had little time before full dawn. If I failed, we would need to hide until twilight descended, somehow avoiding capture until I could try again. The king would inevitably learn of my escape, and he had the reputation of being a very determined man—as did his son. And I had no intention of returning to that cell a third time.

  That is why, when William pressed something into my hand and curled my fingers around its form, I could only stare in disbelief.

  “I brought this,” he said, his gaze reflecting a pure love and kindness that amazed me each time it was offered. “I know, you thought you could do it unassisted, but just in case—”

  A bone. A tiny satchel of ash. And me, in my ivory dress.

  “Do you need to shape a circle? There’s a length of rope in Peter’s bag.”

  How my heart swelled. He shouldn’t have done it, not for me. Not when my works were so contrary to his divinely gifted purpose. But I loved him all the more for it.

  “Thank you,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “This will do.”

  I had no need to form conjuring circles, for I had opened the way before by sheer force of will—and I hadn’t used The Book of Conjuring, and therefore wove no true conjuring to speak of.

  I scattered the ash on the earth beneath my feet and clutched the bone. It was a small thing, and I asked not to whom or what it belonged. I simply focused, centering my will on the hard but delicate length of bone between my fingers. Still, the earth refused to move. I felt it tremble and shift, but my power dispersed as quickly as I could gather it.

  Something remained missing. Something I’d given the earth in exchange, before. Some bit of ritual that couldn’t be ignored. William’s life fueling my will wasn’t enough.

  But what was missing? What was different?

  Blood.

  My father recognized it the same moment I did, and before I could articulate my need, a blur of silver flashed through the air and landed, hovering sharp and deadly, at Lorenz’s throat. The dagger’s tip pressed against the man’s delicate skin. The handle was gripped by none other than my father, and with the slightest flick of his wrist, the blade would slice across Lorenz’s flesh. He would bleed out in seconds. The others, including William, had their swords halfway drawn when I shouted, “Stop!”

  They froze. Oh, we were so feared, my father and I. William alone could have cut us down before we’d moved an inch, but all motion stilled, the anger of betrayal plain upon our companions’ faces.

  “Father! This isn’t the way.”

  “A sacrifice. To open hell’s gates, a sacrifice. How can we be allowed to enter without death?”

  “No.” I laid my hand overtop his that held the blade, gently guiding it away. “We will not take a life to save one. The risk is too great, and we don’t even know if it’s possible to … ” But I said no more, for I couldn’t speak the chance of failure into existence.

  “The way forward demands blood.”

  “And it shall have what it requires.” I slid my hand down the hilt until my palm pressed against the flat of the blade. Then, quickly so I couldn’t change my mind, I wrapped my fingers around the blade and squeezed. The steel bit sharp and deep, and I hoped it was enough. I had been covered in blood when I first cracked the earth—my own and that of my stepsisters—and I prayed to a God I was certain had long ago turned a deaf ear to my pleas that it had not been a death that had opened the way, and that my blood would be sacrifice enough.

  “Oh, Ellison.” William took my hand to try to tend to the injury, but I pulled away and stretched it over the earth. Tears stung my eyes and I pressed my tongue between my teeth to keep from crying out. I closed my hand into a fist and squeezed the wound.

  Drop by drop, I gave. Red spatters on the green grass, a macabre painting of what should have been a serene meadow beside a glorious cathedral. But now the cathedral stood in ruins, and so did the flesh of my palm.

  “Is that enough?” I spoke aloud, though I hadn’t intended it. “Is this sacrifice not sufficient? What more can be taken? What more can I give that hasn’t already been given?”

  To this very day, I wish I hadn’t given voice to those words. At the time, I thought only of my mother. Of Edward. Of all those affected by the battles fought by William and me for king and country. I had sacrificed more than enough, shed enough blood already to come to this place. Surely the earth could do this one thing for me.

  Surely it owed me this much.

  My head spun with dizziness, my composure weakened by the loss of blood. I pulled my hand back, clutched it against my chest, uncaring that it left a bright, bloody handprint on the unblemished white of my fresh dress.

  Enough, I to
ld the earth. Open.

  And so it did.

  12

  The First Descent

  We stumbled, feet unsteady, as the ground rumbled, cracked, and split beneath us. It pulled apart like a great, gaping maw, all rough edges, ready to snap shut once it had lured a tasty morsel.

  “Step back,” called Samia, and I appreciated her warning, for the men were leaning forward, too eager to see what the earth revealed at the expense of prudent caution. “Keep away from the ledge.”

  The ground continued to roar, and I covered my ears with my hands. Doubtless the entire city heard, and the king would send his soldiers to investigate.

  “We need to move quickly,” said Peter. “Should I lower a rope?”

  The earth still shook, but the tremors lessened, and the gap ceased to widen. It was as broad as a man and deeper than—well, I dared not approach it to check. The crack ran through the meadow toward the tree line. It thinned as it disappeared beyond that.

  And when the danger of being toppled into the pit by an unanticipated shuddering of the earth had passed, Samia strode with confidence to the edge and tossed a stone inside. We stopped muttering and listened. We did not hear it reach the bottom.

  “This is a fine predicament,” growled my father. “Crack the earth only to perish falling into its depths.”

  “No,” I said. “I won’t allow it.” I addressed the Abyss itself and allowed my anger to rise. “You will make a way.”

  Before I had finished speaking, the ground rumbled again, but it didn’t shake the place where we stood. Rather, the walls shuddered as a wave of earth rushed toward us from the darkness below. Fear seized my chest, certain I would drown in a tidal bore of loam. But the wave slowed, stopping before cresting the sides, and then began to settle.

  It rippled once, twice, and ceased moving. I risked the few steps required to lean in and observe the state of the pit and saw … stairs. We had no need to lower ourselves on ropes. We would walk into the depths, one foot after another, down the stairs. The steps wound in a tight circle as they descended, each step no wider than my forearm, no longer than a serving spoon.