by Penn, J. F.
With their raucous laughter echoing behind her, Ari was pulled between two guards into the stronghold of Dis, her footsteps treading ground that she had sworn never to walk again. Entropy ruled here, decay and decline evident in the stink of the overcrowded population, kept wretched by the fear of what was outside the walls.
Ari glanced up to the walkways that stretched into the four great towers at the corners of the city. People were crowded onto them, walking slowly about their labor, too exhausted to even look down at her, too burned out to be curious. The Minotaur used narcotics to keep the population subdued, over-riding human will with a dull desperation to merely survive each day. The cheapest of the drugs, known as Vir-Gil, was cut with chemicals that burned skin and corrupted blood. The deformity creeping into the population ensured that refugee women were always in demand.
Ari could see the imprint of what the city had once been, but the place had changed in her long absence. The colors here now were a palate of grey and brown, but not the burnt sienna of autumn leaves or the silvery feathers of the mountain owl, but bleached versions of what the Goddess had put into the natural world. The world outside was difficult and dangerous, Ari thought, but wasn't it better to die in the woods, as the weak sun filtered through the leaves, a moment of pleasure before death? Here, there was nothing of beauty, except the children for a brief moment, before they were ruined even as they bloomed. Enough, Ari thought, her eyes fixed on the back of the guard, counting the minutes before she would stand before the monster once again.
At the heart of the city, a labyrinth was constructed from fragile huts packed with families, so that the jagged paths through the shanty town were near impossible to navigate. It stank of sewage, rubbish and death, for when people had little to trade but themselves, the community could only spiral downwards. People fled at the guards' approach, shrinking against the flimsy shelters, darting into shadows to avoid the batons that could come down at any point in the savage passage. Ari could see that they were all branded with his Mark, the burns of ownership black and ragged on their skin.
They walked past pits like open tombs, where heretics against the Minotaur were thrown to burn and die, as flaming coals, rubbish and waste was flung upon them. Other pits were ringed with men shouting, betting what little they had on the brawling below, witnesses to a fight that could only end in death. Ari saw the hollowed look in the people's eyes, the same one she had worn those years ago and she felt a rising fear. It wouldn't be easy to escape again.
At the edge of the shanty town labyrinth, the guards pushed Ari to climb up rungs of steel inside one of the main towers and their lewd comments were soon silenced by physical exertion. Part of her wanted to smash her boot into the face of the guard below, to kick him off into the gaping space so that his body smashed on the ground beneath, giving the pitiful crowd some hope of defiance. But Ari squashed those feelings down, for her ill-tamed bravado could not help Elyse that way.
"Move it, bitch." The voice came from below and Ari forced her arms to pull faster, finally arriving at the top. A wide platform looked out over the city below, with a window to the ruined world outside and a single door.
The guards became quiet and respectful as the one of them knocked on the door, the sound echoing down into the deep shaft below. Ari glanced out of the window to the horizon, the rim of the sun only inches away. Another few minutes and the ritual would begin. Her heart beat faster at the sound of approaching footsteps.
The door opened to reveal a young girl, her eyes downcast, her body hunched as one broken and without hope. Was this Elyse, Ari thought, scanning her features. But no, she would be in preparation, so this must be the one she would replace. For like the Minotaur of ancient Greece, this monster took new life each month to serve his needs, before discarding the girls to the pandemonium below.
"He's busy," the girl whispered. "You cannot disturb him now."
"He will want to see me," Ari said firmly, stepping forward. "Tell him a lost daughter has returned to beg for his mercy."
The girl's eyes flickered upwards, meeting Ari's green ones with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps they had heard tales of an escapee, Ari thought, perhaps she had provided them with a dream of a future where freedom didn't mean certain death in the wilderness.
The guard turned, his hand raised to strike her for impudence. Ari stood tall to face him, waiting for the blow.
"Enough." The deep voice came from within, and Ari shivered in recognition. "She may enter."
The guard paled and dropped his arm, pushing Ari forwards to the door, keeping his eyes lowered.
Ari walked in, and there he was, the man she had feared all her life and dreamed of since the day she had run from this place, wounded from his Blessing. He stepped from the shadows, his wide chest bare and oiled emphasizing the tattooed Mark, the symbol of his domination. He was still magnificent, his height and strength giving him an advantage over any man who would challenge him in the pit. But there were more scars on his body now and touches of grey in his thick hair. This was a man on the far edge of his prime and for a moment, Ari saw that he was just a man who could die, not the eternal monster of her childish dreams.
"Ariadne." His voice was a filthy caress, for no one but he had ever spoken her full name. "I thought you dead many years ago." He stepped forward, his dark eyes compelling, and then his voice hardened. "Kneel."
Ari found her body obeying him without resistance and she fell to her knees as he approached. His fingers lifted her chin, caressed her lips and then twisted into her hair, pulling it tight.
"Why do you return now, I wonder?" He tugged her head back, pulling a knife from his belt and holding it against the flesh of her neck. Ari's heart raced and her pulse beat against the blade as she sent a desperate prayer to the Goddess. "And who is the traitor that tells of your sister's Blessing?" He stroked the knife gently over the delicate skin, raising a bead of blood that trickled down into the top of Ari's dress. His eyes watched it as it ran over the swell of her breast, then he let go, pushing her roughly forwards. "No matter, I will find out after the ritual is complete, for you cannot disrupt this sacred time. Things have changed since you were Blessed, but tonight you will witness your sister's torment."
He snapped his fingers and from the shadows stepped three women, their bodies tattooed with serpents, their hair twisted into tight rings on top of their heads.
"Meet my Furies, Ariadne." He started to walk away and laughed over his shoulder. "Did you really think I would remain here in my eyrie without protection? They were chosen from the death pits, the ones who remained standing after the Purge, so don't imagine your survival skills are of any use here." He turned to them. "Bring her."
As the Minotaur strode away up a staircase, Ari started backing away from the Furies. She moved into a defensive posture as the women undulated closer, their bodies sinuous. She could see in their eyes the crazed dilated pupils of junkies, addicted to the drugs and violence that kept this city of ruined souls alive.
"I want to follow," Ari said, still backing away, fighting to keep her voice even. Her eyes darted to each, judging their distance. "You don't need to drag me."
"Where's the fun in that?" one of the Furies said, her lips drawn back in a vicious grin as the three of them edged forwards. Ari tried to block their attack but they were too many. A blow to the kidney opened her up for a punch to the stomach and she fell to her knees, winded and gasping for air. One Fury held her head up by her hair and another readied her fist to strike.
"Not her face," the other said, her voice tinged with fear. "He won't like that."
The Fury satisfied herself with another gut punch and Ari crumpled in pain. They dragged her up the staircase, emerging onto a platform that perched atop the tower, with views of the surrounding ruined land. A cool breeze blew across the deck and the Furies raised their faces to the sky, drinking in the fresh air that was denied them in the depths of the stinking city. They held Ari tight, their fingernails digging into her f
lesh, two of them with knives drawn. The sun was about to burn the horizon, just a touch above sinking, and as the last rays of fiery warmth reached them, Ari saw her.
Elyse was tied to the altar on the edge of the platform, with nothing but air between her and the Goddess. Her limbs were lashed down and she struggled weakly, her blonde hair spread out on the carved wooden shrine to his foul god. At the four corners of the altar were dark angel figures, but now Ari saw that they were metal sculptures, not real men. Those jagged wings had haunted her nightmares for half a lifetime, but now she saw through the artifice. It was manufactured by the hallucinogens the girls were forced to take, their minds corrupted while he took his malevolent pleasure.
The Minotaur stood on the edge, looking out towards the burning plains as the sun lit the earth with its dying ruby light. It seemed as if flakes of fire rained down upon a river of blood that weaved across the ruined landscape below, a breath-taking moment of beauty that Ari knew the Goddess had sent as a promise. He was reading aloud from the book of human skin, its patchwork of colors catching the light, transforming its curses into a parody of sunburst.
As he spoke the final words from the book, he lifted the great horned helmet upon his head, horns that Ari still saw in her fevered nightmares. The Furies gazed towards him, mesmerized, as his body was lit by the dying sun, his bronzed, muscled skin alive with fire, and Ari knew what she must do.
She spun out from the grasp of one Fury, pushing her away into another. As they stumbled back, Ari felt the bite of a blade into her arm as one of them slashed down, but she was out of their grip. Time seemed to slow as she saw the Minotaur's eyes widen at the sound of struggle, and she saw human frailty there. He was but a man, lord of this nest of malice, but still only a man.
Ari ran at him, her legs swift from the fitness of the Corps, the years she had spent training for just this moment. At the last second, she jumped, using the corner of the altar to give her extra leverage against his bulk. As his arms wrapped around her body, his roar of anger exploded, and together they toppled over the edge into the void.
As they fell, Ari looked out towards the dying sun, into the very face of the Goddess, his screams of rage her final prayer.
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Thanks for joining me in the world of Inferno. If you enjoyed visiting the darker side of my mind, you might enjoy my dark crime thriller:
Desecration
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Author's Note
These short stories were written as part of an online contest for the launch of Dan Brown's thriller novel, Inferno, run by Kobo. The competition was called The Descent and was based on Dante's Inferno. These stories featured as the beginning of a transmedia game that linked to special websites, and used symbols and numbers from the books as clues to lead to the next step in the contest.
I was given a brief to write three interlinking stories, using the symbolism of Dante's Inferno, and grouped into the main categories of sin. In this collection, the stories have been re-ordered to represent the passage of time, with the book of human skin linking the generations who possess it. There are layers of symbolism in the stories as described below, and you can see many related images here on Pinterest.
Language and imagery used by Dante in Inferno:
As part of the preparation for writing, I read a modern translation of Inferno and made notes on the text, writing down images and specific words to use in my stories that would echo the dark, horrific depths of the rings of Hell.
In Flesh, the bloated dead body of the tattooed author echoes the Gluttonous who lie in a "vile slush of ceaseless foul". The images of the Lustful on the wall, and the stormy valley crossing, reflect the souls blown back and forth by wind with no rest. The desecrated church is of my own imagination but inspired by reading H.P. Lovecraft horror short stories.
In Treachery, Simon whispers "Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war," spoken by Anthony after the murder of Julius Caesar in Shakespeare's play. The traitors who led that insurrection are in the deepest circle of Inferno, in the mouth of Satan himself. The Arctic location echoes Dante's Hell which is encased in ice and the entrance is through a 'precipice of dark-tinted water'. The tortured, distorted bodies of the men in the ice pillar reflect the terrible wounds of the treacherous and the fraudulent, some torn apart and disemboweled by demons for eternity.
In Violence, the city of Dis itself is portrayed, surrounding the lower parts of Hell in Dante. The title of this series comes from Canto VIII, where 'a thousand fiendish angels' sit perched on the gates of the city. The bodies on the thorn bushes are Suicides in Inferno, but I used them as a device to show the depravity of the ruler. The Minotaur and the Furies are used, as are the heretics in their burning graves within the city. This story was influenced by the post-apocalyptic genre and I enjoyed it so much, there might be a full-length work coming in the same vein at some point!
Symbolism:
Many of the symbols are from the occult, esoteric religion and myth and were used to evoke the atmosphere of Inferno and also to lead to further clues within the original game.
In Flesh, the door covered in occult symbols includes the medal of St Benedict, a Catholic sacramental medal used to ward off evil. The images on the walls are from Khajuraho, a real Hindu temple in Madhya Pradesh, India, which is carved with images of explicit sexual positions. William Blake's Circle of the Lustful is a real watercolor, depicting a whirling vortex of naked lovers. The symbol on the flagstone that hides the book is the Seal of Asmodeus, King of Demons from the Book of Tobit and also mentioned in the Talmud.
In Treachery, symbols of the planets, astrological signs and their alchemical metals are shown on the safe door, featuring the iron of Mars, the god of war, and Mercury's quicksilver, ruling planet of the twins of Gemini.
In Violence, the Mark of the Minotaur is an orb cupped in a bowl on top of an inverted cross, the symbol for Pluto, God of the Underworld.
Names of characters:
In Flesh, the dead author Christopher Faerwald: Inferno is the story of a traveler through the circles of Hell, and Christopher is the patron saint of travellers, while Faerwald is an old English word for traveler.
In Treachery, Simon Magus is punished in the Eighth circle for Fraud, and Gestas was the impenitent thief crucified alongside Jesus, greedy for more.
In Violence, Ariadne helped Theseus to kill the Minotaur, although I portray her as the heroine. The name of the drug Vir-Gil is a homage to Dante's guide through Inferno, the poet Virgil.
If you'd like more information on The Descent, here's the Kobo press release for the contest and here's an article that covered it in Wired. The contest finished in mid May 2013, but in this article, Kobo explain all the symbolism and links through the books.
Desecration - J.F.Penn
PROLOGUE
The body of the young woman lies on her back, blonde hair neatly arrayed in a sunburst around her head. She looks like an angel and I bend to adjust a lock of her hair, carefully disguising the deep wound in her skull. At least I can leave her face looking as beautiful as it did in life. Her lips are still painted with wine red lipstick, slightly smudged from where she drank with me. But that mouth whispered words of disturbing truth not so long ago, and I couldn't let her unleash that reality into the world. There is too much at stake and even she was not enough to make me give that up.
I pu
ll on a pair of sterile gloves and breathe a sigh of relief as I slip into my second skin. They make me feel safe, a barrier against the world and yet somehow heightening the sensation in my hands. I always carry a pair, and tonight they serve a noble purpose. I brush her lips with gentle fingertips, some part of me wanting to feel a last breath. But I know she is dead, for I feel the lack of her. What made her alive is now gone and I wonder if she is already on another plane of reality, wondering how she got there, questioning why this life flew by so fast. This is but a body, just another corpse, and I know how to deal with corpses.
In a medical institution, it isn't hard to find a scalpel and I pull open the drawers in the training lab until I find an appropriate one. Returning to the body I use the 22 blade to cut a line through the crimson satin dress that clings to the curves near her hips. The material bunches slightly so I have to hold it down for the scalpel to slice through, but I manage to cut away a square of material, like operating drapes revealing the area for treatment. The blade is so sharp that I can sense the layer of material separate from the firmness of her skin and I feel a rush of pleasure at the sensation.
Beginning the incision, I slice across the soft lower belly. Her flesh is still warm, skin smooth and untainted, and I envy the beauty she carried so unconsciously. The scalpel slices down, a precision instrument in my hand and a line of blood rises to the surface. Even though her heart has stopped, it is as if this body still clings to life.
