Cinderella's Inferno

by F. M. Boughan

  I agreed and, for the first time since being expelled onto this shore, took a moment to survey the landscape beyond. “I see a wooded grove,” I said, hope slowly returning. “If there’s water to be found, we’ll find it there.”

  My father scoffed. “You think we’ll find anything nourishing to living bodies in this place, daughter? Even if you find water, who’s to say we’ll be able to drink it without being poisoned, or made thirstier, or worse? We’re in the realm of the tortured dead, not wandering a desert where an oasis provides refreshment.”

  I almost called Oliroomim back—almost—to demand he tell us the state of the waters ahead. But I had angered him, and he’d tried to deceive me. If I needed a spirit’s assistance, I planned to try to lure another and hope Oliroomim didn’t come in its stead. For now, the wisest course of action was to try to find a way on our own.

  “Can you both stand?” I asked, and my father rose to his feet, then offered William his hand. Once upright, we joined Samia where she waited. I nodded at the stretch of bare earth between the rocks and the waiting woods. “We should proceed, but with caution.”

  My father laughed without humor. “We’ve passed through the first and nearly through the second stages of the Abyss, Ellison, and we’ve already lost two members of this party. Are you sure you want to proceed? If anyone thinks otherwise, they should speak now.”

  I caught his gaze and held it. We had come this far; I would not back down. I would not turn away. When neither William nor Samia voiced opposition, my father sighed with resignation.

  “Through this forest is the final barrier between us and what waits beneath.” His attention flickered to our left. “I’m uncertain what we’ll find on the other side, but the journey won’t become any easier.”

  Samia stared at him. “But you knew what awaited us in the river? On the shore?”

  He kept quiet. Oh, my infuriating, bull-headed father.

  Do not laugh. I’m well aware that between my patient mother and obstinate father, I am too similar to the latter.

  “I trust you.” William touched my arm and I struggled to remain calm as he faced me. He needed rest. Sleep. True refreshment. But where would he find that here? Even his medallion no longer gleamed with the same brightness. The dreariness of this place had dulled even its shine. “We should continue with caution. Samia and I still have our swords and our talismans.”

  “How much farther is it?” Samia asked, but she seemed reluctant to look at me. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t know how much farther, none of us did, so I said nothing. Instead, I took William’s chilled hand for a moment, squeezing it to offer warmth and reassurance, and proceeded.

  Into the woods.

  Into the deeper unknown.

  21

  The Wood

  The loss of Lorenz remained unspoken between us. Nor did we talk of Peter, nor the unknown fate of Cerberus, my Hund. I missed the hound’s eager leading, the coarseness of his fur, both which had been unexpected delights, small pleasures in a stark and joyless place. I hoped he had come out of his battle with Jealousy unharmed, if not the victor.

  Indeed, his leading might have done us a great service in the lightless wood. The moment we crossed the threshold and started down the path, the air grew warm and still. Thin, gnarled branches stretched above and around us like fingers, and I’d had enough of grasping limbs for one day. Still, it was difficult not to see faces and bodies in the twisting of the trunks, the knots upon the bark, the way the branches splayed and reached toward their neighbors.

  The light was strange here, reminiscent of the moon’s shine, as if we hadn’t descended into the earth’s depths and stepped off the mortal plane. For all that we’d endured, these trees and their reaching branches were not frightening. What was concerning, however, was the pervading lack of water and food.

  After we’d gone far enough into the wood that the entrance was completely obscured by trees, Samia paused. She’d insisted on leading the way after William had stumbled several times from the shore. “Leg cramp,” he’d said, “from being pulled under. I’ll be right in a moment.” Samia had frowned and said nothing, though no one protested when she stepped up to lead the way.

  Here, she held her arms out from her sides so that we were unable to pass. “Do you hear that?”

  We listened. It sounded like hope. “Is that running water?”

  “Fast running,” said my father. “It’s still distant, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this path leads there.”

  “A straight path through the woods to a water source doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” William said with a small grin. “I’m beginning to think your father made a lot of sense when he suggested we might be walking into a trap.”

  “It’s a reasonable conjecture. Why would the dead require fresh water?” Samia cocked her head, still listening. “What purpose would refreshment of any kind serve here? If the living aren’t meant to enter the underworld, why have it at all?”

  “A final test,” my father suggested. “Guaranteed security against anyone who reached this point without perishing. A taunt against the thirsting dead who proceed to eternal fire.”

  “I’m sorry I asked.” Samia planted her hands on her hips. “Perhaps it’s a diversion from what is true.”

  “A test?” I looked around. “And what kind of diversion? All we’ve experienced is certainly true and real. We have the scars and grief to prove it.”

  William crossed my path and approached a tree. “Maybe the water is poison and the foliage edible.”

  I felt certain that hunger and thirst were making us delirious. We were speaking in circles and had begun to spout nonsense. “I don’t recommend eating random items in hell’s forest, no matter how hungry.”

  William paused, though his fingers still reached for the tip of a branch. At my pointed look, he pulled away and placed his hand in his pocket, then blinked as though he couldn’t understand what had possessed him to do such a thing. “Of course. Of course not.”

  We continued down the path, but I couldn’t help but keep watch on William. Even Samia seemed to veer toward the edge of the path now and again. My chest tightened each time one of them lifted a hand from their side. The rush of water grew louder as we proceeded. It and our footsteps were the only sounds we heard for a very long time. And still we saw no sign of an exit.

  Escaping from this forest began to consume my thoughts, and I feared I might have to call on yet another spirit to lead us from this place. Was this indeed the curse of the Abyss, to endlessly tread its circles? For the dead, was finding one’s destined circle a welcome relief from ceaseless wandering instead of a dreaded eternal torture? If wasn’t as though a departed soul kept a schedule.

  I was reminded of the tale Hänsel und Gretel, and how the story’s children left a trail of breadcrumbs to ensure they might find their way home. I began to wonder if we were indeed treading the same territory over and over, and if it might be prudent to leave a trail of our own.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” said my father once I proposed it. “I keep sensing we’ll reach the water soon. It’s a feeling of constant anticipation, one I also felt in the dining hall and at the river. I believe we must conquer these paths in our own way, lest we walk them until our legs give out beneath us.”

  “But what can we leave as a trail?” I looked around us. We had no packs, no supplies—only the clothes on our backs.

  “Leave?” William echoed the sentiment behind me and trudged across the path. “Leave. What to leave.”

  “Could we kick a symbol into the dirt?” Samia suggested. “Something we’d recognize. If we left one every hundred paces, surely we’d notice if we came across it again.”

  “That seems wise,” my father said, nodding at Samia. “What might we—”

  “Leave.” William spoke with authority, drawing our attention. In his hands he held a bundle of silver leaves, plucked from the branches that crossed near the path. “We
can scatter leaves on the path. There are none dropped already, and the light reflects on them, so we won’t miss seeing them.”

  It sounded like a strong idea—but as I listened to him, a bright red spot blossomed at the edge of my vision. At the end of a branch near William’s head—within his reach—a red dot had appeared. And then it dripped.

  And then branches all around us, branches without leaves, began to drip crimson.

  The trees shivered. The world grew silent. And a low keening began.

  It was the sound of a grieving mother when her child is stillborn. The lowing of a dog when his master does not come home. The wailing agony of a starving babe.

  The trees were screaming.

  “What have you done?” My father yelled at William, who dropped the leaves to cover his ears as the screaming rose to a fevered pitch. The sound bored into our skulls, like nails being driven inside our ears and eyes. Then Samia looked down the path the way we’d come, and seeing her face, I knew we were lost.

  “Run,” Samia said, and I did not wait to find out why. She allowed William and I to pass her, then followed behind with my father. I tried to run with my hands pressed against my ears, but it slowed me down because I couldn’t use my arms to propel my steps. Beside me, William had tried the same, and the agony of hearing the trees’ wailing twisted his beautiful face into a mask of pain.

  We ran and ran and still a break in the trees didn’t grow any closer, and the sound of rushing water was drowned by the screams. It seemed we would never escape, that my head would burst from the noise.

  I felt a wetness on my cheeks, below my nose, around my ears. I pressed two fingers to my face and pulled them away, and despite what I saw there, I held my tongue so as to not add to the cacophony that surrounded us. I looked at William.

  He, too, was bleeding from his nose, the corners of his eyes, his ears.

  I glanced back, though I shouldn’t have, for when has looking back ever served any good? Had I learned nothing from the story of Lot’s wife?

  The path behind us stretched and lengthened like pulled taffy, as if a giant had taken hold of the far end and yanked, extending the very earth beneath our feet. Every step took us further away from the exit as the world elongated, ruining our forward progress and pulling us backward instead. The wood wanted to trap us here, to punish us for our thoughtless destruction.

  Blood also dripped down the faces of Samia and my father. I called back to Samia, “Use your talisman! Can you banish the shadows that hold us?” I gestured to her pouch in case she couldn’t hear me, but she understood. With a nod she reached into the pouch, withdrew her small gilded book and held it aloft. And then she stopped running.

  “No!” I screamed as the ground continued to protract beneath our racing feet. Samia stood still, eyes closed, book raised, lips moving in silent prayer—but since she’d stopped running, the earth whisked us apart and she was lost from sight in the twitch of a fly’s wings.

  “Keep going,” urged my father. “If she fails, there’s no need for us to perish with her.”

  The trees’ screams grew louder. A ringing in my ears dulled the edge, and I felt wetness on my neck. Is this what happens before one dies? I wondered. What will it be like to be here one instant and gone the next? Will I simply reappear as a shade, wandering Charon’s shore, waiting for passage?

  The world jerked to a halt and we all stumbled forward, falling to the earth with a hard thump. A brilliant white light, distant and yet strong enough that we all shielded our eyes, illuminated the darkness.

  The trees fell silent.

  The light blazed and then dimmed, retreating to its source, and a soft glow pulsed in the center of the path.

  “Not today,” my father said, quiet and firm. “The day may come when we lose, but it is not today.”

  Beside me, William coughed and rubbed his dulled medallion between his fingers, a question forming on his lips. I held my breath, waiting to hear it, when Samia walked out of the shadows, leather pouch glowing with a muted light.

  “Taking a rest, are we?” she said, though her eyes shone with the elation of death defeated. “If I’d known, I might have taken my time.” She patted her pouch and looked past us. I followed her gaze. A break in the trees wasn’t far ahead. Through the gap, I thought I saw the flashing lines and white spray of rushing water. A waterfall? Here?

  “We should go,” she said, kicking the heel of my father’s boots. He grunted and rose. “I don’t know how long heaven’s favor will hold the shadows back, and I’d rather not be caught in the trees again when the light of my talisman fades.”

  We scrambled to our feet and hurried to the edge of the wood. It seemed unreal, as did the waterfall in the distance, and I hoped it too wasn’t an illusion like so much else. But of course it would be, I thought, for what else could be expected in this place?

  We crossed the threshold of the wood and emerged blinking into a bright and cavernous area. The path we’d followed on our descent still curved here, circling the ever-present Abyss to our left, but to our right, a waterfall as tall as the palace’s highest spire crashed down from the rocks above. Its waters flowed across the path, having carved a channel in the rock to slide over and down until the water reached the edge of the murky Abyss and plummeted inside. A thin, wooden bridge spanned the waters to connect both sides of the path. If we thought the waterfall impressive, it found a rival in what lay beyond.

  Massive stone walls capped with two towers stood on either side of the path, hewn gray stone forming a barrier wall on each side of these. Between the towers, upon which small blue flames blazed, was a gate of twisted iron. Sharp spikes formed the top row of the gate, though I couldn’t imagine for what purpose the gate had been crafted this way. To frighten and ward off intruders, perhaps—but who would even think to intrude such a place? Barring ourselves, of course.

  A winged beast flew overhead, low enough to almost brush us with its tail. No, not a tail. A snake, coiled around the feet of … a bird? A woman? It rose higher, proceeding toward the gate, and when it had reached a great height, it dropped something.

  “Oh, mercy,” Samia breathed, and I thought her statement strange until I noticed the way the object slammed onto the spike, sliding down its sharp point until the spike grew too thick and the object dangled there. Long, loose limbs drooped down.

  Oh, Lord Almighty. It was a person, skewered like a piece of meat, hanging from the gate like so much refuse. And we were headed straight toward it.

  22

  The Blessed

  William took my hand. “Should we approach?”

  “I don’t know what else to do.” I glanced at my father for assistance, but once again, he stood with us only in body and not spirit. His mind was elsewhere; I just hoped it was with my mother and not trapped back inside one of the horrors we’d already endured.

  We stepped onto the bridge as the winged creature swooped down to land in front of the gate. Two more, each descending from the high towers, joined it. As we crossed the bridge, salivating at the scent of water, treading with care not to slip and fall into that same churning vortex below, I realized they were neither birds nor women, but both.

  Naked as babes at birth, all three stood in front of the gate, bearing golden spears in their left hands. Enormous, leathery wings lined with black feathers protruded from their backs, unfurled like a serpent’s hood at an enemy’s approach.

  And of serpents, they were not in need. Coiled around their wrists and ankles, twined through their hair and about their temples, resting upon their breasts and close to their sex, were green water snakes, asps, horned serpents. They were not pleased by our arrival.

  I couldn’t help but envision our own bodies, lifeless and impaled through the spine, if we displeased these creatures.

  “What are they?” I asked. On instinct, I reached for my will, nearly calling a spirit for protection—and only just before my thought fully formed, I shook out my h
ands, loosening my fists. It would be unwise to risk calling Oliroomim before understanding what we faced. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a wary churning, an unease. I’d faced three monstrous women before and barely escaped with my life and the lives of those I loved. Two of those same people stood with me now. How did they feel at this sight?

  We reached the other side of the bridge and paused.

  “Whatever they are,” William said, “Ellison and I have taken down far worse. Three winged women should be no trouble at all.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Samia said, and smacked William in the back of the head. I gasped and slapped my hands over my mouth, anticipating an angry reaction and swift judgment from her leader, but William only cast his gaze downward. “Underestimate any enemy and allow pride of past victories to blind you at your own peril. There are enough stories to warn of this, and if you choose to ignore them and wander into battle blindly, you’ll lose my sword, whether you’re a future king or not.”

  Oh, but I liked Samia more and more. “Do you know what they are?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “No, but your father does.”

  We turned to him. He scowled and lifted his face to us, sadness drawing lines from the corners of his eyes down to his mouth.

  “I suggest you speak and do it plainly,” I said, unable to hide my ever-increasing irritation with him. “The longer you keep your knowledge from us, the more assured we are of defeat.”

  His gaze snapped to mine, then. “You who are so competent, daughter, so unaffected, you tell me who they are.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Did I provide private tutors for nothing? Did you take lessons, study classical education, read every book in our house, only to be struck mute when that knowledge is called upon? Use your brain, child, and tell me what you see.”