Samia and William joined me at the edge to examine the contents of the pit.
“Backs against the wall,” William instructed. “Keep one shoulder pressed at all times, fingers splayed on the surface for balance. Keep five steps between each other so that if one of us falls, we won’t all tumble to the bottom. I’ll go first.”
“Your Highness,” protested all three of his companions, but he silenced them with a look.
“A king leads,” he said, his voice so soft that I was at first uncertain whether he’d spoken at all.
William proceeded down, and Peter followed behind, arm extended and ready to snatch the back of William’s cloak if he lost his footing. I wanted to follow next, but my father insisted otherwise, and I didn’t desire another argument. Samia went behind my father, then me, then Lorenz.
We descended the tight coil for what felt like an eternity. My legs began to burn and twice we all paused and crouched where we were for several moments to safely quench our thirst. We had no way to mark the hours and after a time, we realized that we had descended so far that the daylight above was no longer visible. We’d lost all sight of the world above and had been plunged into darkness. We had no choice but to continue down.
I became certain my legs would give way beneath me at any moment. They trembled with each careful step, exhausted from the effort to ensure I didn’t falter and send the entire party tumbling into the depths. Just when I thought I could go no further, when the weight of the darkness pressed too hard and I wondered if I might never see anything but deep black ever again, I reached for my spirit to illuminate the pit—but then William cried out.
“I think I’ve reached the bottom. Stay against the wall. I think—”
A sudden light blazed throughout the space. I blinked against the pain of renewed sight after so long in the dark and, once my eyes adjusted to the light, took in where we’d landed. We stood inside a small, domed chamber with no adornment except for a stone door flanked by two sconces that held torches—well, one still held a torch. William had plucked the other. They glowed with a strange blue light.
“Did you do this?” he asked. “It lit as soon as I picked it up.”
“I don’t think so.” I couldn’t have. “I didn’t know they were here.”
“The door,” said Lorenz. He stepped up and traced his fingers along the seam, but as he touched the stone, inscriptions appeared as though carved by an invisible hand.
William held the torch aloft and read out loud as each word was inscribed.
“Through me the way into the grieving city,
Through me the way into eternal sorrow,
Through me the way among the lost people.
Justice moved my high maker;
Divine power made me,
Highest wisdom, and primal love.
Before me were no things created.
Except eternal ones, and I endure eternal.
Abandon every hope, you who enter.”
“Ominous,” said Lorenz. I didn’t miss how he stepped farther from my father, how he watched him from the corner of his eye. So did I. We wouldn’t be taken by surprise again—not by my father, at least.
“Indeed,” said William, who regarded me with all seriousness. “Can you open it?”
What had I expected? That I would crack the earth and we would all descend together, like ducklings in a row, and march up to the prince of darkness to demand my mother’s return? I stepped forward to press my hand upon the stone. I didn’t know if I could open it, nor if opening the door would produce the desired outcome. Would there be a fiery furnace on the other side, to sear and consume my companions in an instant? Would we come face to face with souls in torture, whipped and bloodied?
Surely, I had not commanded the very earth to open at my feet only to be foiled by a clever stone door. It felt cold rather than warm as I had expected, and I saw no lever by which to open it. So I simply told it what to do.
“We have arrived with a purpose. Allow us to enter.”
The door didn’t move, but I sensed a strange tugging—a pull on my consciousness. It felt familiar, the same awareness one feels when a friend or loved one enters a room before you’ve turned eyes upon them. I dared to allow a brief hope of my mother, but the pull was not that strong. More like … a cat pushing its head beneath one’s fingers for a scratch. Or a mouse, leading a frightened girl to the lever that opens secret passageways.
Something, someone, waited for me on the other side of this door.
I pressed my hands more firmly against the stone, the entirety of my palms’ flesh touching its surface, and willed a spirit forth from beyond the veil, intending to ask its assistance. However, the moment the thought entered my mind, the door rumbled and began to swing inward.
The sensation of familiarity increased as the door opened. The clang of my companions’ partially drawn swords rang throughout the cavern, but I sensed no threat. Would I, though? I didn’t know what waited on the other side, only that I had a singular mission and would not be deterred. Not even when the door opened far enough to reveal the presence I’d sensed behind it.
A black hound, its ears twitching nervously and tail thumping the ground, sat before us. As the door opened fully, its great jaw hung open, tongue lolling and panting as if it had run very far and very fast to be here in time. But as the beast caught me in its sights, its lips curled back, revealing long, knife-like fangs.
It crouched, teeth bared, and loosed a howl that chilled my blood and rooted me to the earth. The hound tensed, muscles and fur rippling, and sprang.
13
The Ally
“Ellison!” William and my father shouted as one, the song of unsheathed steel a chorus behind me. But the hound was faster than any man, and he was upon me before my limbs could even be willed to move. I shut my eyes in anticipation of blinding agony, of daggered teeth and claws plunging into my chest and tearing my throat—
Instead, a wet, sloppy rag slapped against my cheek as a heavy weight pressed down on each shoulder without pain.
“Wait!” I said as swords flashed toward the beast. “I’m unharmed. I believe it … he likes me.”
As if in response, the hound dropped onto all four legs—Lord have mercy, the creature’s head came nearly to the height of my shoulders with all paws on the ground—then sat back on his haunches. He regarded me with head tilted, tongue lolling, ears perked as though pleased at my presence.
“Do you know this beast?” Peter stepped forward, sword at the ready.
“Put that away. He means no harm.” The creature chuffed in response. Had it understood?
Peter snorted. “Not to you or your father, perhaps. What of the rest of us?”
“What is your meaning?” my father snapped.
“I only meant, because we’re in a place of great evil, and—”
“Enough.” As I gave the order, the hound’s lips curled over his teeth and a low growl rumbled in his throat. “And that is enough from you.” The growl ceased and, before I could even feel surprise at his compliance, he nuzzled his head against my palm. His fur was rough and coarse against my fingers, and I took a closer look at the strange beast. A black hound, to be certain, lean and sleek and fraught with menace. Assuredly he would be a remarkable and effective guardian in this place—but since he didn’t appear to be on duty, might I employ the beast as protection for our own party?
Warily, I curled my fingers to scratch the hound between the ears. He responded by rubbing his cheek against my wrist, and as the blue light of William’s torch illuminated the creature’s form, I saw it. A flash of purple in the shine of his coat—and suddenly I knew why I had sensed a familiar presence, why my brief effort to will a spirit had opened the way to us instead. Why that same spirit had come to me so readily on more than one occasion.
“It was you!” I said to the beast. He blinked once, slowly, and as strange as it sounds to tell the tale now, I felt certain th
at he understood me. I had attempted to summon a spirit and inadvertently drawn this strange, supernatural beast—and he had followed me home, so to speak. “Whatever will I call you?”
I wished that he might tell me his proper name—but I shouldn’t have been surprised when he did not. Names confer power, and doubtless this beast had a master elsewhere who held his control. I had merely allowed him to loosen the lead for a time.
“I shan’t stake a claim where I have none. I will call you Hund, to speak of you as you are, and when we greet your true master, perhaps he’ll choose to tell me your secret. What say you?” I offered another scratch behind his ears. Hund’s warm tongue licked my cheek in response. His breath stank like sulfur, but truth be told, the general scent of the place was hardly better.
With the immediate threat pacified—befriended, rather—we took in our surroundings. However, there wasn’t much to take in. We stood on a rocky outcrop that gently sloped toward a wide, gray-sanded beach. I saw no water, but thought I heard it.
Now, whether the sand was truly gray or if its pallid appearance was a trick of the pale blue light in the chamber, I couldn’t tell. The beach stretched for some distance on both sides of where we had entered, and I saw trees marking the far boundaries. The ceiling of the cavern was shrouded in darkness.
As we stepped onto the sand, the very earth beneath us seemed to widen—the way a lump of dough spreads when first kneaded. A gray and white fog rolled toward us as we walked, coming closer as the sound of lapping waters grew stronger.
“This place makes my skin crawl,” declared Peter, once we’d reached the edge of the fog. “I say we wait to see if this cloud dissipates. We don’t know what waits beyond. It could be a trap.”
Hund tossed a glance over his shoulder and chuffed, then padded into the fog. He disappeared immediately, his form obscured the moment he crossed through.
“It’s safe enough,” I said, and thought to follow my canine guide.
William’s fingers around my wrist pulled me back. “Ellison, wait. Peter is correct. We don’t know what’s in there.”
“And how do you propose we find out? I’m here to rescue my mother, and I can’t do that by standing still.” I yanked my arm from his grasp and plunged into the fog.
I should have listened to William. A chill ran down my spine. The fog felt cold but not wet, like I had stepped inside an icebox large enough to house a person. The brightness of the fog caused me to blink rapidly—and then I heard it.
Sighs and wailing. Gentle weeping. A low moan, like one who grieves but for whom the pain has dulled and whose tears have long-since dried.
“What was that?” Lorenz’s strong voice carried through the gloom. “Your Highness, did you see that?”
I heard William sigh. “I see nothing but fog, Lorenz, but I hear the same as you do, I’m sure. And there’s no need for pretense here—William, or Will, will do.”
Lorenz grunted in response and I wondered if he might be persuaded so soon to turn back by the mere thought of otherworldly mysteries. But then I saw it, too. A gray, ghostly hand rushed through the fog toward my face, visible only from the corner of my eye, for when I shifted to meet its charge head-on, the appendage dissipated as though it had been a mere figment of my imagination.
“Where did it go?” Lorenz’s voice grew near, but I saw no one else in my party. Peter called back, and they spoke to each other like birds in a flock hidden among the leaves of a densely packed tree, but I remained silent and placed one foot after the other.
Another hand reached for me, and the wailing grew louder. Now I heard it—not just a low keening but a strange, garbled language. It made quite the tumult, turning over and over in the mist, and it seemed that despite my forward motion, I made no progress to see the other side.
My confidence faltered. Perhaps we would remain lost inside the ghostly fog for eternity, forever subjected to ghoulish, grasping limbs that vanished with a look, serenaded only by the sounds of endless grieving. When I could stand it no longer, I clapped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut—for what difference did it make? I saw nothing through the fog with eyes open, and at least with eyes shut I wouldn’t see the hands swooping at the edges of my vision.
A scream rose from within the tumult, swirling like sand in a whirlwind, and my legs buckled. I sank toward the earth, knees bending in a crouch.
“I will rest for a moment,” I said to no one, for I felt so alone, so suddenly convinced I would remain this way for eternity, that all hope of the future had abandoned my limbs.
Coarse fur brushed against my forehead. In alarm, I opened my eyes. Hund lay on his stomach before me, his black eyes like deep pools staring into mine. The fog was gone. I heard no more wailing. I had come through.
Quickly, I stood and turned to call to my companions and guide them through also, but remained mutely rooted at seeing the stone door through which we’d entered now unobscured. No fog blocked my view.
The others, however, remained trapped. I could see them fumbling their way toward me, but they resembled actors on a stage, pretending at terrors before them.
The fog was only visible from one side.
“Come to me,” I called, filled with frantic hope. “Move toward my voice. Cover your eyes and follow my words. You’re nearly there.” I prayed they heard me over the sounds inside the fog.
I took my father’s hand as he became the first to break free. He had closed his eyes, and blinked them open when I touched his wrist. He smiled and nodded, and I went down the line, pulling each one through. Finally, we all reached the other side and stood on the gray sand—at the edge of a shore. Here was the water I’d heard. A black lake lapped at the sand, and a wooden dock extended into the water.
But we were not alone.
14
The Conveyance
We were surrounded by pale, ghostly figures that stood still and unmoving. Their forms were blurred as though their spirits were unanchored, and my cheeks burned as I stared, realizing they were, indeed, unclothed. But of course, they were. What had I expected? I had seen it myself when conjuring spirits.
“If this is hell,” said Peter, striding behind William as he moved to stand beside me, “I have never been gladder to follow the will of the Lord. I choose heaven over eternal bleakness.”
“Who says you get to make the final choice?” said my father.
“And this most certainly isn’t hell,” I added. “Not yet. Look there.” In the distance upon the lake, a light bobbed in the water. Thanks to my schooling, I’d been tutored well and knew about the ferryman of the deep. Truthfully, I had believed him to be a figment of the ancient tales, but I was learning that a great many things I had believed were not necessarily true.
“Charon?” My father rubbed his hands together, and I grew uneasy at the gleam in his eyes. Surely, he wasn’t excited by what we were about to do? He must have felt my gaze, for he turned to me and his features softened. “Don’t worry, daughter. If I seem to delight in the journey, it’s only because I anticipate the reward at the end of our trials. To see Aleidis again, even once more … ” His voice hitched, and he pressed his lips into a firm line. A lump formed in my throat at seeing his sadness and his hope. She had died before he’d been able to say a proper goodbye, and I ached for his loss.
“Do you know what you’ll say?” I didn’t even know what I’d say. If anything, I might beg forgiveness for sending her to this place.
His smile was tight and pained. “I don’t plan to say anything at all. To hold her again would be enough, but if I can’t have that … ” He sighed and didn’t finish.
I understood. We would ensure she rose to glory, as she deserved, and that would be enough.
William shifted closer, eyes squinting against the gloom. I noticed that as he moved, the ghostly figures turned toward him, their silent faces filled with a futile longing. Even down here in the midst of misery, his medallion shone with its golden g
leam. It was surprising in the murky blue-gray of the cavern, and I wondered if these poor souls sensed William’s connection to the Almighty.
“Who are they?” he asked, voice low. It was nearly silent, save for the tiny ripples caused by Charon’s boat that lapped gently against the shore, and the cavern itself seemed to demand we keep it so. “Why are they just standing there?”
I didn’t know, but my father sighed again and kept his gaze on the approaching boat. “They wait to cross,” he said. “As do we.”
“But they’re not moving. There are so many, but they’re not queuing for the ferry. How will they know whose turn it is to cross? Won’t we be waiting for ages?”
“So many questions.” My father dug inside his pocket and withdrew a silver coin. He flipped it into the air with his thumb and caught it, then held it aloft to catch the light. “They are moving, Your Highness, but the dead keep no schedule. We, however, do, and I would like to ensure that we stick to it. These shades have not yet paid their way, and we won’t wait for them to do so first.”
“Material possessions are worthless after death, so how would they make payment?” William asked, and my father smiled with knowing. “But I suppose the difference is that we’re not dead.”
My father nodded once. “Exactly. The ancient practice is for the living to bury the dead with a coin in the mouth to pay the ferryman, but we have no one to pay on our behalf and I would rather not risk our quest ending before it has truly begun.”
My father’s decision to only share this knowledge in the moments before crossing made me wary. “Will we require payment elsewhere in this place? We have nothing but the barest necessities on our backs.”
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