Redemption of Eva

    Perry’s hands trembled as he knelt before the Cross.  He had almost lost Eva.  The thought filled him with despair.  

    She fingered the silver embroidery of her dress thoughtfully.  Then she slipped a brass mirror from her pocket and studied her reflection.

    “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” Eva whispered. 

    “No, Eva.  Damn it.  Not she.  You.  You’re beautiful.”

    Her steel-gray eyes met his.  They seemed pleased.  Maybe amused.  Her bruises were gone, and her face shone with a quiet grace.  She rose to her feet.  So regal.  So unapproachable.

    “We begin again, Lord Greycloak.”

    “Lady Evadne,” Perry said with a deep bow.  “I am forever your devoted—”

    “Knight,” she finished, interrupting him.

    The reset had restored everything.  Except their memories.  He couldn’t be sure how much she remembered, or how much she had endured to reach him.  And that fang.  It was no dragon tooth, but it was no mere trinket either.  What had she been through?

    Eva gestured toward the oilskin hanging from his belt.  He placed it in her hands.  She walked over to the Cross and sat down among the lilies at its foot.  She patted the ground beside her.

    “Sit,” she said.  She leaned against the coarse, weathered wood and sighed deeply.

    One by one she removed the contents and spread them out before her.  A thick golden ring.  A deed.  Letters.  A tattered ribbon.

    “Did you know that I stole this?”  she asked.  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.  She gathered her long, luxurious hair and tied it into a ponytail with the ribbon.

    She picked up the deed and studied it closely.  

    “I thought this was what I wanted.”

    Then she read every letter, slowly, carefully.  Hours passed, but Perry didn’t mind.  More than once she returned to an earlier letter and compared it to another.  Her face went through the full range of expressions as she read.  Now angry.  Now sad.  Now amused.  Piece by piece, she seemed to be assembling something only she could see.

    She placed the items back into the pouch one by one until only the ring remained.  She didn’t comment.  Barely even looked at it.  She placed it at the top and closed the pouch.

    She inhaled deeply, savoring the unmistakable fragrance of lilies growing on the hillside around them.  Birds sang for joy.  She gazed lovingly upon the Cross as tears rolled down her cheeks.

    Together they descended into the garden below.  The rich scent of olive wood filled the air.  Her fingers brushed the large stone that had been rolled away.  Then she entered the tomb.  The bed, or rock shelf, where a body should lie was empty.  She turned and left.

    She walked to the cleft in the rock.  The earth had been torn apart by an earthquake, and no bottom was visible.  She tossed the oilskin pouch in.

   “Go to Hell,” she said without a trace of emotion.  She turned away, not bothering to watch it fall.  

    “Come,” she said and started up the hill toward the Narrow Way.

    Perry followed after her.  He extended his hand to her.  She didn’t notice.

     She studied the river.  Wide.  Dark.  A chill hung in the air.  She hadn’t been standing there long when a skiff glided toward the bank.  An old man stood within it, guiding it with a pole.  He was rough and weathered, with a wild gray beard.  His blazing eyes settled on her.  Recognition flashed in them.

    “Haven’t I seen you before?” she asked.

    “No.  That was me brother.”

    You don’t belong here.  The words echoed through her mind in his voice.

    She stepped toward the skiff.  The old man held up a hand.  She stopped.  “You must pay the price,” he said.  “Something dear.”

    Something dear?  She didn’t even know who she was.  How was she supposed to know what she held dear?  She had few options.  She removed the fang from her belt and offered it to him.

   He didn’t move.  Didn’t blink.  Just continued to stare.

    Her sword?  The old man shook his head.

    Her daggers.  She drew one and studied it.  Nothing.  No memories.  She placed it in his hands.  The loss struck her immediately.  Yet he didn’t move.  Didn’t blink.  Just continued that unsettling stare.

    “Both,” he said.

    She drew the second dagger.  Turning it over in her fingers, she studied the ivory-wrapped hilt.  She didn’t want to give it to him. 

    “Why?”

    The old man didn’t answer.  He simply waited.  Without a hint of impatience.

    Her heart sank when she finally surrendered it.  The old man accepted the dagger with a solemn nod.  He tucked both daggers into the folds of his robes.  Then he withdrew a golden coin.  A skull had been stamped on its face.  He pressed it into her palm.

    “What’s this for?” she asked.

    “Return.”

    She stepped into the skiff.  The old man pushed away from the bank without waiting for anyone else.

    “What is this place?”

    “Why am I here?”

    “Do you know?”

    He continued dipping his pole into the dark water.  Silence.  Slowly.  Surely.  They crossed the river.  At the far bank, he stood quietly waiting for her to disembark.

    She caught hold of his robe.

    “Say something,” she demanded.  “Anything.”

   He looked down at her hand.  Then back at her.  Neither of them moved.  Fine.  She could wait in silence too.

    “Very well,” he said at last.  “Past the hungry.  Past them as’ve quit caring.  Across the ice.”  He nodded into the darkness.  “There’s a captive waiting by the stair.”

   “Who is he?”

   “Couldn’t say.”

   Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t say?  She stepped from the skiff onto the desolate shore.  

    “Set him free when you find him.” He pushed the skiff from the shore.

   “Why?”

   “Because he’s your redemption.”

   “What’s that mean?”

    The old man drew his robe tighter around himself.  

    “If I knew that,” he said.  “I’d be somewhere warmer.”

–

    The land beyond the river was desolate.  No trees.  No grass.  No moss.  Cold air bit at her skin.  Colder than the far bank.  Scattered flames flickered across the landscape, giving off no warmth.  The air reeked.  Rotting flesh.  Decay.  And worse odors she couldn’t name.

    She stumbled into something and recoiled.  A figure sat on the bare ground.  It was eating its own arm.  Man or woman?  She couldn’t tell.

    Ahead, a corpse lay on the ground.  Another figure crouched beside it, tearing at the corpse’s stomach, ripping out intestines and devouring them.  She watched in horror.  It began to choke.  Then retch.  Then slump to the ground.

    The other body sprang up, devouring the vomit greedily.  Then it turned on the one who had been feeding on it and began to eat.

    She quickened her pace.  What a terribly gruesome place this was.  She tried to remember why she was here.  There had to be a reason.  A very good reason.  Past the hungry.

    Bodies surrounded her.  Eating.  Being eaten.  Vomiting.  Eating it back up.  One relieved himself.  And then… She hastily turned away.  This she could not watch.

    One of them noticed her.  It rose and began to follow.  Then another.  And another.

    Her hands darted to her sleeves.  Nothing.  Her breath caught.  Then she remembered the sword.  She drew it just as one of the creatures lunged.  She swung.  Awkwardly.  The blade still brought it down.

    The others fell upon it at once, feasting.  She broke into a run.  She didn’t dare look back until they were far behind her.

–

   Bodies lay upon the frozen ground.  Here and there, a faint moan drifted through the gloom.  Past them that quit caring.  She was going the right way.  

    She wasn’t quite as good with the sword as she’d expected.  She studied the fragments of memory she had of herself.  Flashes of whips.  And wings.  And teeth.  A dragon’s head.

    Perhaps she had been better with the daggers she’d given the old man.  Well.  She would never know now.  Perhaps the dragon had taken more than her memories.  Perhaps it had taken her skill as well.  Given time, she might recover both.

    One of the sleepers lifted a hand feebly toward her.  She knelt beside him.  His lips moved.  She leaned closer.

    “I want to leave,” he whispered.

   A golden coin lay beside him.  Return.  That’s what the old man had said.  Charon.  The name surfaced without warning.  She stooped, picked up the coin, and pressed it into the man’s hand.  Then she folded his fingers around it.  She pointed back the way she had come.

    “Give it to the ferryman.  He’ll take you back.” She hesitated.   “And then…”  And then what?  She didn’t know.

   “It’s pointless,” he groaned, letting the coin slip from his grasp.  He closed his eyes and slumped back onto the ground in slumber.

    Sleepers lay scattered before her.  Beside each rested a golden coin.  Never far from reach.  Discarded.  Abandoned.  Somehow this seemed even worse than before.  But at least they weren’t trying to eat her.

–

    When she stepped past the last sleeper, a lake stretched before her, vast and frozen.  Her teeth chattered in the bitter cold.  If only she had a cloak.  A gray cloak.  The thought surfaced from somewhere deep within her.  No memory accompanied it.  Yet the image made her feel warm.

    Maybe the man ahead would have answers.  Her redemption?  She scoffed.  She didn’t need redemption.  Still, he might help her remember.

    A shadow lay beneath the ice.  A body?  She continued on.  Then another shape emerged below the surface.  Definitely a body.  Frozen solid beneath the ice.  At least these wretches had an excuse for not moving.

    Far ahead, stairs rose upward into the darkness, seeming to climb without end.  A shaft of golden light pierced the gloom, spilling down upon her.  She slowed.  It was the first time she could remember seeing light since… Ever.

    A man was shackled to the wall.  He didn’t notice her.  Make a good impression, Vee.   She lifted her chin and strode forward confidently.  Vee?

    She approached.  He looked up.  Their eyes met.  Her heart skipped.  He was strong.  Handsome.  And those eyes… She found herself staring.  Stop acting like a schoolgirl.  The reprimand came unbidden.  Her sisters would never let her live this down.  Sisters?

    He gasped.  Tears began to roll down his face.  Why was he crying?  He had to know she was there to rescue him.  Unless.  She had severely miscalculated how attractive she was.

    “Eva,” he whispered.  “Oh Eva.  Tell me what they’ve done.”

    Eva.  Memories flooded her.  Fragments.  Nothing matched.  Nothing made sense.  But the name fit.  Eva.  Eva the…

   “Brave!” she exclaimed.  A glamorous woman had called her that.  She held up the fang for him to see.  He was safe now.  She would take care of him.

    “Eva the Dragon-Slayer!” she declared, her heart swelling with pride.

–

    Thunder rolled behind her.  She turned.  A chimera stood before her.  Lion’s face.  Wings.  Scales.  She hoped her fighting skills came back better than her memories had.

    She dropped into a fighting stance, leveling the sword toward it.  The chimera stepped forward and casually swatted the weapon from her grasp.  Her stomach sank.  She backed away slowly.  That’s when she saw it.  The source of the thunder.

   It towered above her.  Above the chimera.  A crimson dragon.  Its head rose nearly to the heights of the cavern.  Vast wings stretched across the frozen lake.  Wicked claws, longer than her arms, gleamed in the pale light.

    “Kill her.”  The voice echoed through the cavern.  The chimera hesitated.  He looked ready to obey.  Then he took a step away from her.

    The dragon’s claws closed around him.  Then they slammed him against the wall.  A sickening crunch echoed through the cavern.  Bones shattered.  The chimera crumpled to the ground.

    There was a flash of pain.  Blinding.  She looked down. A claw impaled her stomach.  The dragon held her suspended for a moment.  Then he pulled his claw free and dropped her to the ice.

–

    Eva felt the life slipping from her.  She was so cold.  Her life had been so short.  She had only just learned her own name.  And the man… Who was he?  He wore a gray cloak.  And he loved her.  She knew it.  Somehow, she knew it.  But it brought her no comfort.

    Memories drifted through her mind.  Fragments.  Disconnected.  Meaningless.  None of them brought comfort.  Eva.  The Cross.

    Lilies.  An old rugged cross.  Stained with blood.  The Prince hung upon it.  Bruised.  Beaten.  Naked.  Scarcely recognizable as a man.

   It was all for her.  She was Eva. The Beloved.  She remembered nail-scarred hands washing her feet.  And the man.  The man watched Him.  Learning.

    She let go.  The light carried her away.

***

    Perry clenched his fist around the lapis-lazuli ring as righteous fury filled him.  Golden light enveloped him.  The shackles fell from his wrists.  Apollyon lay crumpled against the wall.

    Too late.  Eva gasped as the dragon impaled her on a claw and dropped her to the ice.  Then he lifted a talon and swung it down toward her.

    Perry stepped between them and raised his fist.  The dragon’s talon recoiled.  Light flooded the cavern.  Wings beat overhead.  Archangels at his call.  Legions of angels to do his bidding.

    Malice burned in the dragon’s eyes.  Flames flickered between his teeth.  Perry lowered his fist.

    “The King rebuke you.”   Perry barely raised his voice.  The light became blinding.  The dragon fled.

–

    Perry fell to his knees beside Eva.

   “Eva.  Eva, dearest,” he whispered.

   Her eyes were milky.  Glazed over.  

   “The Cross, Eva.  Remember the Cross.”

    Perry closed his eyes and pictured the Prince.  And the Cross.  When he opened them again, he was kneeling before the Cross.

    Eva knelt beside him.

    She awoke on the banks of a luminous river.  Moonlight seemed to flow through its waters, giving them a pale, milky glow.  The river wound downward to a vast sea, still as glass.  Where the two met, the water shimmered softly.

    She wasn’t sure where she was.  She wasn’t even sure who she was.  She searched for memories.  There were none.

    She felt her breasts, then her stomach, and finally her hips.  She was fit and had a fine figure.  No doubt men found her desirable.  Perhaps even attractive.  She smiled.

    But her clothes told a different story.  She was dressed sharply, an officer of high rank.  The sword at her side spoke of authority. And her hair… it was cut short.  The sort of haircut worn by a woman who had no need of a man’s approval.

    Fragments flashed through her mind.  Fighting.  Scales.  Something vast.  Her hand drifted to her belt.  A great tooth hung there.  A trophy.  From the jaws of a…  Nothing came.

    Tucked beside the tooth were two daggers.  Bloodied, but still razor sharp.  Ivory decorated the handles, worn smooth with age. She drew one of them.  It felt right.

    She wasn’t one to stand around waiting for things to happen to her.  How did she know that?  Didn’t matter.  She set off.  A marsh stretched before her.  Moss hung from tall trees draped in leaves.  Her boots sank into the mud.  Stars twinkled overhead, but something felt wrong.  The sky seemed too close.  Far above, a ceiling arched over everything.

    She settled into a steady pace, though every step sent aches through her body.  Probably from her battle with… Whatever it had been.  A headache throbbed behind her eyes.  She must have struck her head in the fight.  Hopefully the answers lay ahead.

    The going was slow.  She had nothing to navigate by.  Then she stopped.  An impression nearly three feet across had sunk deep into the mud.  A footprint.  Oval in shape.  Four toes.  Another lay ahead.  And another.  And another.  They stretched across the swamp.  Made by a creature of unimaginable size.  A furrow accompanied them, nearly as wide as the footprints themselves.  A tail.

    It was reckless, but curiosity gripped her.  She had to follow.  The creature’s stride was staggering, yet it seemed to be in no hurry.  The tracks led to a thicket in the distance.

    As she rounded the thicket, it came into view.  She stopped. Its body was the size of a warship, supported by pillar-like legs.  A tail like a cedar tree swept behind it.  Its neck rose above the canopy, reaching the tops of the tallest trees.  She whistled in amazement.  Muscles rippled beneath its smooth hide.  And it was eating leaves.

    She couldn’t take her eyes from it.  Hippopotamus?  She wasn’t sure why, but the name amused her.  It felt exactly right and completely wrong at the same time.

    It lowered its head until it was level with hers.  Despite the creature’s size, its head was scarcely larger than her own.  Its eyes glistened softly.  Gently.  A leafy branch fell to the ground.  She bent slowly and deliberately, picked it up, and offered it in open palms.  It took the branch carefully between its broad teeth.  Not even the tips brushed her skin.  It chewed contentedly, never taking its eyes from hers.

    “You don’t belong here any more than I do.  Do you?”  The creature trilled softly.  She reached out and let her fingers brush its skin.  Cool.  Smooth.  It lowered its head and nestled against her hand.

    “I wish you could talk.”  She scratched beneath his jaw.  “Then you could tell me which way to go.”

    Understanding seemed to gleam in his eyes.  He swung his neck away from her and stretched it outward, as though pointing.  Then he nodded twice.  

   “Thank you,” she said softly.  Then she added, “Friend.”

    He let out a soft bellow.  The sound drifted across the swamp like the song of a whale.  Then he turned his attention back to the treetops.

    She headed in the direction her new friend had indicated.  Before long, she reached another river.  Wide.  Dark.  

    It was as dark as the river behind her had been luminous.

    Perry picked his way forward cautiously.  The ground ahead bore the scars of an epic battle.  Mighty rocks had been sundered, and wicked iron javelins lay scattered across the earth.

   Something slammed into him and sent him sprawling.  Pain exploded through his shoulder.  His arm went numb.  Perry clutched at the wound.  His hand came away bloody.

    Eva.  Must protect Eva.

   He tried to stand.  Nausea overwhelmed him.  He collapsed back to the ground.  Eva had already dropped into a fighting stance, daggers in hand.  The daggers he’d waited so long to see.

   Out of the gloom stepped Apollyon.  Face of a lion.  Arms and legs of a bear.  Wings of a dragon.  Proud scales.  Smoke curled from his flanks.  His eyes glowed.  Eva was already charging toward him.  She barely reached his thighs.

     Admiration mingled with his dread.  This woman needed no protection.  But this?  This was reckless.

    “Eva, run,” he gasped.  The edges of his vision blurred.  A mighty roar shook him from the haze.  He thumbed the ring on his right hand and struggled to stand.  Just stand up.  A horrible thud.

    His teeth chattered, sweat drenching him.  Just stand up.  End this.  Then you can rest.

    Apollyon towered over him.  He bent, lifted Perry as easily as a child, draped him over one shoulder, then turned and walked away.

    Relief flooded him.  Away from Eva.  She would be safe.  He desperately hoped she wasn’t badly hurt.  She would live.  She would place her invitation into the King’s hand.  The Author had promised.  That was enough.

    Ahead lay an abyss.  A bottomless pit flickering with an orange glow.  Specters drifted through the rising smoke.

   Apollyon leaped.  Perry clutched to Apollyon’s mane, bracing himself.  Apollyon landed on a rocky outcropping with surprising grace.  Perry barely felt the impact.  He turned and leaped again.

    Bridges spanned the canyons.  Campfires dotted the heights, surrounded by goblin legions.  At the sight of Apollyon, they scattered, shrieking in terror.  The drakes circling overhead paid them no attention.

    Again, Apollyon leaped.  And they fell.  And fell.  The air grew suffocating as the orange glow brightened below.  Then it began to fade.  Apollyon spread his mighty wings.  They drifted past a splendid city of shadows built upon a rocky plateau.  Of course.  He knew the Author well enough.  Pandemonium.

    A river stretched before them.  A beast larger than any Perry had ever seen craned its long neck to watch them pass.  Behemoth. He studied it closely.  Its skin was smooth.  Its tail was long and powerful, like a mighty tree.  Its head seemed surprisingly small.  Gentle, even.  The Author would want a detailed account.  Assuming he survived the ordeal.

    Apollyon landed on the far side of the river and set Perry on his feet.  Dizziness washed over him.  He staggered and nearly fell.  The wound in his shoulder had stopped bleeding.  The flaming dart seemed to have cauterized it.

    He turned to face Apollyon, one fist clenched, his other arm hanging limp at his side.  The deep-blue gemstone inlaid in his ring felt cool and comforting against his palm.  No.  This wasn’t what the Author had given it to him for.  

    “Why have you brought me here?” he demanded.

    Apollyon’s burning eyes fixed on him.  He offered no reply.  Instead, he raised an outstretched claw and pointed.

    “Walk,” he said at last.

    Scattered flames rose from the barren landscape, doing little to warm the chill.  Wretches missing great chunks of flesh crawled away from them in haste.  One stopped abruptly.  It began retching violently, its body convulsing.

    The temperature continued to drop as they walked.  Something glinted on the ground.  A golden coin.  Lost?  No. Another lay further ahead.  And another.  They were strewn across the landscape.  Abandoned.

    Corpses lay beside the coins.  No.  Not corpses.  One moved, just slightly.  One moaned softly.  They made no move to flee.  Apollyon stepped carefully over one.  Perry walked around her.

    “Save me,” she whispered, barely glancing at Perry.  Then she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the ground.

    The air grew bitterly cold.  Perry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.  Apollyon was shrouded in steam.  Ahead stretched a vast lake, frozen solid.  Apollyon stepped onto it without hesitation.  The ice held beneath his weight.  Perry followed.

    Occasionally, Perry caught sight of bodies entombed beneath the ice, frozen in poses of terror.  He lost track of time.  He simply kept walking, Apollyon matching his pace.

    At last, they reached the far side.  Shackles hung from chains fixed to the wall beside an entrance to a cavern of immense scale.  A spiral staircase wound upward without end.  Far above, golden light pierced the darkness.

    Apollyon fell on his face, trembling. 

    “Great Lord of the Dark,” he called.  “Your servant, Apollyon.”

   Nothing stirred.  Apollyon’s breathing came ragged and uneven.

    A golden eye opened in the darkness.  It glowed like a furnace.  Then the head of a dragon emerged.  Perry gasped.

    Majestic horns rose above its head.  Teeth like swords gleamed in the darkness.  Smoke curled from its nostrils.  Apollyon seemed but a child by comparison.

    But that wasn’t what surprised Perry.  It was beautiful.  Unfathomably beautiful.  The distant light from above shimmered across its crimson scales in waves of rainbow color.  Terrifying beauty.  Panic-inducing beauty.

    “Why have you come, Lord Apollyon?”  His voice rolled across the land like deep thunder.  Then his attention settled on Perry.

    A claw emerged from the shadows.  It was nearly as long as Perry was tall.  The point drifted toward him and stopped inches beneath his chin.

    “Ah,” the dragon said.  “Never have I met someone quite so brave.”  His eyes burned with a terrible amusement.  “And yet…” The golden eyes narrowed.  “I can smell your fear.  Held tight.  Buried deep.”

    The dragon turned his attention back to Apollyon.  “Rise.”  Then he fell silent and waited. 

    Apollyon stood.  Forcing himself to meet the dragon’s gaze.

   “Peregrine Greycloak, my Lord.”  Apollyon swallowed.   “A gift from the Dread Lord Beelzebub.”

    Flames flickered between the dragon’s teeth.

   “What use have I for him?”

    “Not him, my Lord,” Apollyon replied.  “But who he will draw.  And the changes it will bring about…” Apollyon straightened.  His chest swelled with pride.  “In Mansoul.”

   Terror gripped Perry.  No.  Not Eva.  Please.  No.

    “Well done, Lord Apollyon.”  And with that, he disappeared back into the darkness.

–

    Days passed.  Or perhaps weeks.  Perry could no longer tell.  The gloom never lifted.  The cold never relented.  He drifted in and out of consciousness, slumped against his shackles.  His dreams haunted him.  Whenever despair threatened to overwhelm him, he lifted his gaze toward the golden light far above and prayed.

    The ring beckoned to him.  No.

    Not.

    What.

    The.

    Author.

    Intended.

    It.

    For.

   Yes collided with No, creating friction inside him.

    At times the dragon would appear, and whisper lies to him about Eva.  About how she’d been burned, crushed, corrupted.  He shut his ears.  He would not listen.

   The Interpreter’s words returned to him.  Are you willing to lay down everything for her, as the Prince did his Bride?

    Yes.  He loved her.  With all his heart.  It was the first time he had allowed himself to admit it.  The thought of dying didn’t frighten him.  Not if Eva was safe.  He had to be patient.  Trust the Author.

   Perry woke from a troubled dream.  In the distance, a lone figure crossed the frozen lake.  He walked with a swagger, glancing this way and that as he approached.  Fine clothes and a sword hung at his side.

    No.  Not he.  It was a woman.  Her hips swayed slightly as she approached.  Her hair was cut short, hanging in uneven strands.  Her face was bruised.  

    “I’m here to rescue you,” she said simply.

    Horror gripped Perry when her steel-gray eyes met his.  There was no recognition in them.  Only a blank, vacant stare.

    “Eva, dearest.”  Tears spilled down his cheeks.  “What have they done to you?”

    Something flickered across her face.  A struggle.  As though she were trying to remember.

    “Yes,” she said, realization crossing her face.  “That’s who I am.”  She beamed.  “Eva.  Eva the Brave.”  She held up a fang the size of a dagger.   “Eva the Dragon-Slayer!”
    A low rumble came from the dragon’s lair.  It grew louder.  And louder.  Until thunderous laughter rolled through the cavern.

    Eva struck out for the bank, kicking with all her strength.  It accomplished little except to exhaust her.  The river had narrowed, and the current was faster now—far too strong to fight.  All she could do was cling to a shattered piece of the galley and let it carry her.

    The sounds of muskets and cannons faded behind her, along with the cries of victory and the howls of defeat.  The banks rose higher and steeper until the river entered a narrow canyon and plunged into a series of rapids.  Violent currents twisted into whirlpools.  Again and again the water dragged her under.  Again and again the timber slammed against submerged rocks.  She was so cold she barely felt the impacts.

    The river continued downward for miles—or what felt like hours.  Just hold on as long as she could—until she reached the sea she’d glimpsed before.

     The canyon suddenly fell away, and the river spilled into an immense basin.  The water wasn’t as calm as it had appeared, but it was wide.  No banks were in sight.  No shoreline.  Just the sea.  The current had finally loosened its grip.  Eva paddled wearily with her hands and feet, steering the timber toward where the shore must be.

    A ridge caught her eye, rising from the water and growing steadily larger.  It couldn’t be an island.  Or any ordinary sea creature.  Scales covered it like gigantic shields, overlapping and sealed tightly together.

    Then an enormous head rose from the water.  Part reptile.  Part serpent.  It fixed her with eyes the color of the morning sky.  Its jaws opened wide enough to swallow a city gate, row upon row of terrible teeth gleaming within.

    Terror gripped Eva.  The ridge had been only a small part of its body.  Its true size defied comprehension.  She couldn’t take it in with a single glance.

    It began to coil through the water, churning the sea around it and leaving a pale glow in its wake.  A maelstrom sprang up around the creature, seizing Eva and dragging her farther from shore.  Resistance was useless.  Her only option was surrender.

    The current swept her across the sea toward a distant shore bathed in a red glow.  Warmth crept into the water around her, slowly driving away the cold.  Smoke billowed from a river of fire pouring down from the heights.  Steam rose in great clouds where it met the sea.

    The shore rushed toward her.  Eva braced herself, certain she would either be dashed against the rocks or swept into the river of fire.  The water had grown hot now—uncomfortably hot.  But her fears proved unfounded.  The current continued to circle the sea monster, carrying her past both the shore and the flames toward yet another distant coastline.  The speed was dizzying.  She must have traveled miles in a matter of minutes.

     Water boiled where the creature’s tail had passed.  The current hurled her through it.  Agony exploded across her skin.  She cried out.

    Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature was gone.  It slipped beneath the surface and vanished into the depths.  The water cooled rapidly.  The sea grew calm.

    A luminescent river flowed from the shore.  It looked as though moonlight had been poured into the water, giving it a pale, milky glow.  Even the sea around her shimmered faintly in the dimness.

    Eva’s teeth chattered even as her skin still burned.  She was tired.  So tired.  She kicked weakly, barely keeping her head above water.  Just a little farther.  Then she could rest.

    The timber had been torn from her grasp long ago.  How she had stayed afloat, she couldn’t have said.  She lowered her head and struck out toward the glowing riverbank.

    Weariness swept over her.  Her arms and legs turned to lead.  Keep going.  Her thoughts began to drift.  She couldn’t move.  She sank.  Weeds brushed against her face and tangled in her hair.  Light flooded through her.  And suddenly she felt… good.

***

    Leviathan?  That was the name of the— Vadna had been reading about.   What had she been doing?  

    That’s right.  She had just been with Anna and the well-dressed gentleman.  Why couldn’t she remember his name? 

    She stole a boat.  The thought struck her as absurd.  Everything looked flat, as though the world had been drawn in lines.  No.  That wasn’t right.  It was more real than reality.  Real in a way her mind couldn’t comprehend.

    She had been in Vanity.  Pillars of men.  Tied at a stake, burning alive.  Anna.  Who was Anna?  A handkerchief.  Boc?  Where had that name come from?

    Kindly Ones.  Eyes like the abyss.  She concentrated.  The harder she tried to remember, the faster the memory slipped away.

    Giants.  Goblins.  Drakes.  And… and…

    Sisters.  No.  Not those sisters.  One.  Two.  Three.  Charity.  She was pleased she’d remembered.  Remembered what?  Something dear.  Someone dear.

    Brisk?  No.  She was perfectly content to forget him.  He’d had her…

    A gray cloak.  A gray cloak.  A gray cloak.  Gentle eyes.  Strong hands.  Her… No.  Not yet.  She wrapped it up tenderly and thrust it down deep.  To keep it safe.

    Lady Wanton.  No.  That wasn’t right.  Madame Wanton of Carnal Policy.  Instructor of dance.  She watched him dance with Inconsiderate.  Dance with her.  She stood alone.  The best and bravest room in the house.  Empty.  Only a cobweb.

    The Interpreter’s face flitted through her mind.  Then it became Innocent.  She cradled a baby in her arms.

    Beelzebub.  Furies.  The Prince.

    It slipped through her mind like sand in an hourglass.  And then there was nothing.

   Just silence.

    Acheron.  That was the name of the river.  At least she thought it was.  Or was it the Styx?  It wound around the false Paradise and Beulah before bending in a wide arc toward the basin below.

    Eva fixed the direction in her mind and set out.  She should be able to descend and, if her luck held, bypass the battlefield entirely.

    The journey to the river took far longer than she had expected, but nothing troubled her along the way.  Hours had passed, yet the daylight remained unchanged.  A well-trodden path ran beside the river.  Posts stood at regular intervals, and thick tow-ropes lay coiled along the banks.

    Up ahead, scattered fragments of conversation drifted down the path.  She slipped into the shadows among a cluster of rocks.

    Long stone piers stretched into the dark water, lined with heavy bollards and iron rings set into the masonry.  Beyond them stood enormous rectangular buildings with narrow slit windows and iron doors.  Numbers were painted on their sides.  Probably storehouses.  For weapons.  Ammunition.

    Men and women lounged in idle conversation, thick leather harnesses draped across their shoulders.  Near a towering counting-house stood wheelbarrows and shoulder yokes waiting to be lifted.

    The constant thunder of the cannons had faded into the background.  Eva started as a trumpet blared somewhere along the river.  She turned toward the sound.

    A magnificent galley glided past.  Its sails were furled tightly against the yards, while a web of ropes stretched from the tall mast to prow and stern, where carved horns curved proudly upward.

    Several dozen oars extended through the openings in the hull, dipping lazily into the water as the current carried the vessel downstream.

    Had they seen her?  There had been no cry of alarm, no sign at all that she had been noticed.

   The galley swung wide, its prow turning back toward Greed.  

   “Heave-ho!” 

   “Ho!”

   “Heave-ho!”

   “Ho!”

    The oars strained against the current.  Inch by inch, the galley eased alongside the pier.  The gangplank dropped and the captain stepped ashore.  He walked with a swagger.  A gilded breastplate gleamed beneath a crimson cloak draped from his shoulders, and a sword hung at his belt, more ceremonial than functional.  His helmet concealed both face and hair, making it impossible to judge his age—possibly even his gender.

    A crazy idea dawned on her.  She tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t let go.  He seemed just about her size and weight.

    A clerk with an ink-stained hand stepped from the counting-house, marking his ledger with a quill.  Then he waved to the waiting workers.

    They began hauling sacks and stacking them in a giant cargo net.  A massive crane of black timber and iron bands towered overhead, its chains thicker than a man’s wrist.  One of the workers attached the hook.  Beyond him, men with corded muscles strained inside a tread-wheel, and the bundle slowly rose into the air.  Other workers guided it with ropes as the net descended into the hold.

    The crane swung around and lowered the net to the dock to be loaded again.  Soldiers began to disembark in columns and form ranks.  They wore long blue military coats with high collars, cross belts, and rows of brass buttons.

   “Company!  Atten-tion!”

    The company stood rigidly awaiting orders, muskets held against their shoulders.

    “Stand easy.”

    The soldiers relaxed slightly, clasping their hands behind their backs.  None moved.  None spoke.

    The crane hoisted again.  A bag tore, and thousands of silver coins came clattering to the ground, some rolling across the dock, others splashing into the water.

    The soldiers didn’t break formation or even flinch.  The workers barely seemed to notice.  They simply continued loading, lowering, and loading again.  When the last load was stowed, the officer approached the captain, snapped his heels together, and gave him a sharp salute.

    Several of the workers glanced toward the soldiers, their eyes appraising.  Not in awe or respect, but as though evaluating livestock.

    The officer turned and barked an order.  The column pivoted as one and marched toward the road leading into the smoke.  The captain handed a receipt of purchase to the clerk.  The clerk returned to the counting-house.  And the workers returned to wherever in Hell they had come from.

    The captain turned and began to walk back toward the galley.  It was now or never.  She started to move toward him—then froze.  He turned toward her.

    She remained as still as possible, scarcely daring to breathe.  He hadn’t seen her.  She exhaled slowly and quietly.  He stepped around the side of the building.  Eva’s dagger flashed into her grip, and she darted after him.

    He faced the building, leaning against the wall.  A sigh of relief escaped him as water trickled below.  In a heartbeat, Eva was behind him, her dagger pressed to his throat.  He began to tremble violently.  The splashing became sporadic.

    “Turn around,” she said evenly.  “Slowly.”  She eased the pressure of the dagger.

   He turned.  Then his hands darted down to cover himself.

   “My god, man,” Eva exclaimed.  “You sell soldiers for silver in Hell, and you a worry about me seeing… that?”  She pointed at it with her dagger.  He stumbled backward, stepping into the wet spot.

    “Sword,” she said.

    He fumbled at his belt with one hand.

    “Lose it!” she snapped.

    He scrambled with both hands and dropped the sword.  Eva was not impressed.

   “Your armor,” she said.  He removed the cloak, then his shoulder guards.  And then his helmet.  Eva blinked.  He was just a boy.  Couldn’t be any older than twenty.  Tears streamed down his face.

   “Your shirt.”  

    He peeled it off.

    “Your trousers,” she said.  Then added, “Keep your boots I don’t need them.”

   He glanced down, horrified.  Then a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

   “You’ve come to the wrong part of Hell if you think I’m wearing your smallclothes,” Eva snapped.

    Then, without hesitation, she thrust her dagger between his ribs and held it.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  She stepped closer and wrapped him in her arms.  Blood flowed down between them, soaking into her dress.  Warmth spread across her skin.

    She held him until his heart stopped beating and lowered him gently to the ground.

    She wasted no time.  She stripped off her boots and dress and pulled on his trousers.  They fit snugly around her hips.  Next came the shirt, then the breastplate.  It pressed tightly against her breasts, but not unbearably so.  She clasped the cloak around her neck and fastened the sword to her belt.

   She slid her feet into the boots, then folded her dress and laid it at his side.

    “You’ll be fine when you wake up,” she said with a soft sob.  She’d watched the dead rise here time and time again.  She lowered the helmet over her head and strode toward the galley.

–

    “You’re not the captain.”  It was a statement of fact.  The helmsman walked toward her slowly.  He was middle-aged, with grizzled hair and the rough muscles of a working man.  His clothes were as coarse as the captain’s were fine.

    “No,” she said.  “You are.  As soon as I get where I’m going.”

    The helmsman’s gaze flicked toward the cargo hold.  His eyes shone.

   “Keep the silver,” she said.  “I don’t care about it.”

    “Welcome aboard, Captain.”  He extended a hand.  Eva ignored it.

   “Never cared much for the little arsehole anyway,” he muttered with a smug grin.

    “Cast off!” Eva shouted, forcing her voice as deep as she could.  The helmsman repeated the order.

    The oarsmen below deck began to row.

    “Heave-ho!”

    Grunt.  “Ho!”

    “Heave-ho!”

    “Ho!”

    “Swing about!” Eva hollered.

   The helmsman drew his sword.  

   “Hold!” he cried.  The galley began to spiral.  Some oars pulled.  Others fell still.

    “How many keys did the captain have?”  Her hand drifted toward her pocket.

   “You’re bluffing.”

   She backed away slowly, inching toward the hatch below.

   “Even if you get to the rowers, they’ll just be chained again, when it’s all over,” he said.

    She drew both daggers, ignoring the sword at her hip.

    “Silver does me no good if I’m dead.”

   “You can’t die,” she said.  “You’re already dead.”

    She didn’t back down.  She stepped closer.

   “And…” she said.  “You will never get this chance again.  Never.”

    “The captain is very persuasive,” he said at last, shrugging.  Then he sheathed his sword.

    “Swing about!” he ordered.

   The galley began to move again.

    The galley sped downriver, the banks blurring past on either side.  The battlefield stretched without end, smoke rising into the darkness while cannons and muskets echoed across the barren expanse.  Ahead, the river twisted ever downward until at last it emptied into a vast subterranean lake—or perhaps an inland sea.

    Eva walked back to the stern.  The helmsman steered with two great oars, one to port, and one to starboard, linked together and working in unison to keep the galley centered in the current.  Very different from the tillers she knew from the Dark Lands, but the principle was the same.

   “What are they fighting for?”

   “The love of God.  Human rights.  Who the Hell knows anymore?”  

   Eva watched the smoke drifting over the battlefield.

   “Why don’t they just stop?”

   He began to answer when a cannon roared.  A plume of water erupted mere yards from the bow.  Eva ran to the rail.  Cries rose from a group of soldiers clustered around a cannon on a stone outpost that nearly blended into the rocky shoreline.

   “Evade!”  Eva and the helmsman shouted the command together.

    The galley lurched to starboard.  But not fast enough.  A cannonball slammed into the hull, sending splinters flying.  The helmsman abandoned his post and sprinted for the ladder below.  Eva followed, ducking on the way down.  

    Water rushed through the gash torn in the hull.  Rowers chained to narrow wooden benches thrashed in panic.  Eva gagged at the stench.  Icy water surged around her legs, and her feet began to go numb.  The helmsman vanished through a door at the stern.

    “Help me!” one of the slaves pleaded.  Eva plunged a hand into her pocket and grasped the keys.   One of them had to release the slaves.  She knelt beside him and followed the chain downward.  There was no way to save them all.  Still, she had to try.  

    The water was unnaturally cold.  She could no longer feel her fingers.  She searched for a padlock.  Nothing.  The chains were attached to… nothing.

    She clenched her fists.  “What the Hell is wrong with you?” she screamed.

   The helmsman reappeared.  The water was nearly waist-deep now.  He was hauling one of the largest bags of silver on his shoulder.

   “Let it go, man—”

    Another cannonball crashed into the hull, and the galley lurched violently.  Eva slammed into the wall.  Water surged through the breach, filling the vessel.  Then it swallowed her whole.

    She drove upward, arms stroking desperately.  Something wrapped around her foot.  A chain.  She kicked free.  A hand grasped her—she shoved it away.  Bodies thrashed all around her.  She fought her way through them.

    She hit wood.  She groped, sliding her hand along the surface.  She caught hold of a splintered edge.  Sharp pain lanced through her hand, but she ignored it and pulled herself out.  At least she hoped she did.

    She tore the helmet from her head and let it sink into the depths.  The breastplate was next.  She fought her way free of it and felt its weight fall away.  Her lungs burned.  Starbursts danced across her vision.  She thrust upward with long, desperate strokes.  Time seemed to freeze.

   Up.

   And up.  

   She broke the surface with a violent gasp.  Oily water flooded her mouth.  She flailed until her arms found a piece of shattered timber drifting nearby and clung to it.

   The current seized her and dragged her downriver.  She held on for dear life.

    Eva crouched among the rocks, studying the basin below.  The land was barren and broken.  Great swaths burned, smoke rising toward the cavern ceiling far overhead.  It was the first place she had seen that truly looked like Hell.

    Two great armies stood arrayed against one another.  Gunshots rang across the basin, and men fell.  Cannons thundered, flashes of fire rippling across the battlefield.  Then the lines dissolved into a frenzy of steel and blood, followed by a great cry of victory.

    She had watched for hours, and the cycle never changed.  After a brief reprieve, the dead rose to their feet and returned to the fight.

    Her descent into Hell was becoming painfully clear.  First Greed.  Then Lust.

    “I swear to the Prince,” she muttered, brows knit.  “If someone says, ‘Welcome to Wrath,’ I will stab them.”  Eva sighed.

    She pressed the waterskin to her lips and drank deeply from the Water of Life.  Her ribs still ached, but strength flowed through her body.  The burns from the fire and acid had scarcely left a mark where Alecto had applied the healing leaves.

    But her heart ached.  For the well-dressed man.  She had never even learned his name.  The image of him groaning beneath the weight of the temple of Mammon remained vivid in her mind.

    But Anna was worse.  Eva had said everything she could think to say, done everything she could to persuade her.  It had made no difference.   She shuddered.  Even the image of the well-dressed man paled beside the corpse Anna had held so lovingly.

    Anna’s words still shook her.  Was she truly so different? If Perry had been lying on that bed, would she have stayed there too?

    No.  She didn’t want that.  And Perry wouldn’t want it either.  Their love was true.  Yet the question lingered.  How was what she was doing so different?

    What would Perry have done if it had been her who was taken?  Would he have continued on without her?  No.  She didn’t believe that.  Not for a minute.  But what would he have done differently?

    The fighting never stopped below.  She could see no safe way across.  The damned seemed unable to die.  But she could.  Her fight with Cerberus had proved that.  And she did not know what would happen if she died in Hell.

    But she could not bear the thought of retracing her steps.  Of seeing it all again.  The city of Mammon.  Anna.  Besides, she did not even know whether Charon would ferry her back to the harbor.  Alecto had said there would be no return.

    There was no turning back.  But there was no way forward either.  She looked down at the battlefield again.  Absolutely not.  It was time to stop playing by Hell’s rules.  She would find another way around.

    Eva’s chest heaved.  She drew deep breaths, trying to steady herself.  She had not stopped running until the gates of the city had vanished from sight.  She refused to look back.  It felt as though the whole city were staring at her.

    “Saw ‘em, did you?  Right terrified me too.”

   The woman who spoke wore a brown woolen dress stained with mud and singed in places, carrying a faint acrid smell of sulfur.  Her eyes were soft and brown, full of feeling.

    “Pompous asses, the lot of them,” she continued.  “Especially that fellow talking to you.  Would serve him right if he became one of them”

     “How do you…” Eva stammered.  “How did you get here?”

    “Same as you.  By ferry,” she said.  “I’m Anna.”  She held out her hand.

    Eva took it.  “I’m Eva.”

    Anna bowed in mock sincerity, stopping her lips just short of Eva’s hand.  Then she gave it a quick tug, released it, and started walking away from the city.  “Can’t leave that horrid place behind fast enough.”

    Eva fell into step beside her.  The air was intoxicatingly sweet, rich with the earthy fragrance of the surrounding vineyards and faint traces of exotic flowers.  She searched the distant horizon for the reddish glow and billowing smoke she had seen from the temple.  That was her destination.

    “No,” Eva said.  “Here.”  Surely Anna had to understand what she meant by here.  But she only looked puzzled.  “How did you arrive at the harbor?”

    “I was…”  She scrunched up her nose.  A blank look crossed her face.  She shook her head.  “That’s odd.  I was just…”

    Song drifted across the rolling hills, but not birdsong.  Soft.  Sweet.  Enticing.  It blended perfectly with the distant notes of a flute.  The same music she had heard mingled with the screams of the Abyss.  So much like the song the satyr had played for her, and yet completely different.

    “The dance,” Anna said.  “I remember dancing with Charity.”

    “Yes,” Eva whispered.  “Me too.”

    “She told me I was special,” Anna said.  “That I deserved to be loved.  I’ll never forget her eyes.  Wonderful shade of green they were.  And then there was the mountain.  And the valley.  That’s where I met… him.”

   She sighed.  “I believe in love.  Tell me, Eva, is there anyone you love?”

   “Perry,” she breathed.  It felt good saying his name.  “I am going to him now.”

    Anna’s eyes grew distant.  “This music,” she said, listening intently.  The flute seemed closer now.  “The enchanted creature who played it brought him to me.  We wandered through the bog.  He put flowers in my hair.” 

    Something felt wrong.  Nothing Anna described quite matched her own experience.

    “He laid me down on the grass and we made love.” Anna trembled in memory.  “I’ve never been touched like that before.”

    The vineyards had ended, and petals drifted down around them from cherry trees in full blossom.  It was the most beautiful place Eva had ever seen.  But she would not be fooled again.  She did not know what this place was.  But beautiful or not, it was still Hell.

    “He didn’t care I was from Stupidity.  Wealth and power weren’t everything, he said.  And then…”  A look of confusion crossed her face.  “And then…”

    Eva took Anna’s hand in hers.  “You can tell me, dear-heart.  And then?”

    “He went back to his wife.”  Anna’s eyes glistened with tears.  “And I…”

   “Yes?”

   “I don’t remember.”

    “He promised.”  Her voice trembled.  “He said he would tell her.  That we would be together forever.  Here in Beulah.”

    Oh no.  Eva gasped and squeezed Anna’s hand.  “Turn back.  It’s not too late.”

    Anna pulled her hand away.

    “Charon will take you back.  Cerberus won’t stop you.”  Eva’s voice grew urgent.  “The Prince won’t turn you away.”

    Anna’s eyes flashed with jealousy.  “I know your type.  You want him for yourself.”

    “You can’t stay here.  You can’t go forward.”

    “How are you any different from me?” Anna demanded.

   Eva opened her mouth, but no answer came.  Was she any different?

   Anna pulled her hand free and turned away.

   “Anna, wait.” 

   Eva followed, but Anna slipped away into the blossoms.  Gone.  Perry.  She had to reach Perry.  No.  Anna.  She remembered Perry standing firm before Beelzebub.  He would be fine.

    The song of the sirens had become a lament.  The wind circled through the grass, sending ripples across the hills.  Specters flitted among the trees.

    “Come back, my love,” one man begged, the apparition slipping through his arms.

   A woman clung desperately to a skeleton, kissing him again and again.

    A man leered at her.  Eva ignored him.

   “Hey, pin-box, are you alone?”  She stiffened and kept walking.  Her heart quickened.  Her fingers drifted to her dagger.

    “Has your lover abandoned you too?”

    She made up her mind.  She would find Anna, no matter how long it took.  Then she would bring her back to the surface herself.  Tie her up and carry her if she had to.

    Hour after hour passed, and still she searched.  There seemed to be no end to the horrors.

    A man knelt before a woman.  She struck him with a whip.  His eyes rolled back in delight.  

   “Again,” he demanded.

    A man sat among the skeletons of children.  A skeleton rested in his lap, a faded blue ribbon still tied around her skull.  He stroked the brittle strands of hair clinging to it.

    “My sweet girl,” he murmured.  “You’ll be old enough soon.”

    Eva’s temper flared.  She wanted to pummel him with her fists.  She turned away in disgust.  The bastard would probably enjoy it.

   She came to a bog so strangely lovely it hardly seemed real.  Trees draped in silver moss.  Flowers blazed with impossible color.  Their perfume drifted on the breeze.

    In the middle stood a booth, its walls hung with rich tapestries and its posts twined with carvings of cunning workmanship.  At its center stood a bed draped in fine linen, and Anna reclined upon it.

    Eva gasped.  In Anna’s embrace was a corpse.

    The air was heavy with fragrance—myrrh and aloes, sweet oil and clove.  Beneath it lingered the smell of decaying flesh.

   “Oh, Eva,” she gushed.  “I’ve found him!”

    A worm crawled from an empty eye socket.  Anna brushed it away gently and pressed her lips to the gray lifeless flesh of his cheek.

    Eva’s eyes stung.  “Oh, Anna.  Oh, Anna.  I will walk with you.  Just come with me.  Perry can wait.”

    Anna stared back at her, no trace of blankness on her face.  She knew she was in Hell.

    “No, Eva.  I’d rather be damned than leave him behind.”

   No blow from Cerberus had ever landed harder.

    A hush fell over the crowd as Charon docked the ferry against a marble pier.  Waterfalls vanished soundlessly into the mist before reaching the waters below.  Icy fingers crept down Eva’s spine.  The stillness was unnatural.  Not even birdsong disturbed the silence.

    The well-dressed man stepped off the ferry, his voice ringing clear.  “Come.  Even now these… people… hang back.”

    One by one, the people shuffled off the ferry toward a magnificent archway formed from a single iridescent pearl.

    This was not the sort of place Apollyon would have brought Perry.  Still, it was the only way.  And perhaps it led deeper.

    She passed through the arch and into streets of marble winding between stately mansions overlaid with gold ornamentation that put the estates of Carnal-Policy to shame.  And yet, up close, the city no longer seemed magnificent.  Only gaudy.

    At the center of the square towered a statue similar to the one in the City of Destruction.  But unlike Apollyon’s copper monument, this one was forged from solid gold.

    Even at its exaggerated proportions, it was clearly the image of a massive man—both in stature and girth.  He leaned forward with a hunch in his neck and shoulders, one hand extended.

    Several of the passengers gasped, and one turned away in disgust.  The well-dressed man looked on with unbridled admiration.

    “Now there’s a man who’s not afraid to reach out and grasp what he wants!”

    At the foot of the statue reclined women adorned with gold collars and silver chains.  Two clung to each of its legs.  A third lounged among cushions gathered around the base, slender and beautiful in dazzling garments.

    “Oh dear-heart,” Eva exclaimed.  Then her gaze followed the chains.  They led to the statue yet were attached to nothing.  

    The woman shot Eva a look of contempt, the haughtiness in her face diminishing her beauty.

    Eva did not know exactly where she was.  But this was no Paradise.  Relief mingled strangely with her disgust.

    The well-dressed man’s face bore the same blank expression that had become so familiar to Eva.

    “This is truly Paradise,” he murmured.

    Eva shook her head, turned, and continued down the street, leaving the well-dressed man behind.  From the ferry, she had glimpsed a lower basin beyond the city walls.  That had to be the way to Perry.

    At the end of the road stood a library with pillars rising stories high and alcoves filled with statues of Olympians.  They had been painted in such exquisite detail that they almost seemed alive.

    What was this place?  If she could answer that question, perhaps she could understand the path forward.

    People passed carrying great sacks over their shoulders, groaning beneath the weight as they moved in and out through a gate to her left.  The sounds of argument and haggling drifted toward her.  Eva peered through the gate.

    It was no mere marketplace, but a vast bazaar filled with unspeakable wonders.  Booths of marble, limestone, and alabaster displayed jewels of every kind, alongside sacks spilling over with gold, silver, and copper coins.

   “My soul is worth far more than that!” one shouted.

   “Do you know who I am?” demanded another.

    Across the bazaar, the well-dressed man stood in animated conversation with a vendor.  He drew a deed from his coat and laid it carefully before him.

   “Yes, indeed, you have been diligent,” the vendor said, his voice carrying above the din.  “This will fetch a very handsome price.  You are guaranteed the finest position.  And the finest view.”

    No.  This was not the way.  Perry would not be here.  She turned and headed up the street climbing a gentle rise.  It too was paved in marble.

    On her left stood a bathhouse, its entry flanked by statues supporting the balcony above.

   Movement caught her eye.  These were no statues.  Men stood shirtless beneath the balcony, bearing the weight of the building on their backs.  One man’s knees trembled.  A thin trickle of blood ran down another’s chest.

   “Are you trapped?” Eva asked. 

   “Of course not,” the man replied, sweat trickling down his face with the effort of speaking.  He moaned softly.

   “Just let it go,” Eva whispered.

   The man’s expression hardened.

    A grand stairway climbed toward the higher levels.  Perhaps from there she could get a better view.  It was impossible to find her bearings among the towering buildings.  And there was no Bear above her.  No Hunter at her back.

    As she ascended, she passed terraces lined with benches and tables.  A man counted and recounted a sack of gold coins.  A woman held a diamond aloft, mesmerized by its beauty.  Eva paid them no mind.

    At the top of the stairs stood a temple like those Eva had seen in paintings of Athens.  Across the entrance, bold letters of gold proclaimed:  MAMMON.

    Conspicuously, the corner pillar was missing, the surrounding nooks unfilled.  Below, the city spread in all its splendor—endless edifices of marble and gold.  From the balcony, Eva could see beyond the city walls into the lower basins.  Trees with soft pink blossoms swayed in the breeze.  Gardens and vineyards formed a patchwork across the land.

    A reddish glow lit the distant horizon.  Smoke billowed upward into the underground sky.  Fire and smoke?  That had to be the right direction.  Eva traced the shape of the ceiling with her finger, committing it to memory.  She would follow that.

    At the top of the stairs, Eva encountered the well-dressed man again.  Another man followed behind him, also elegantly dressed, though of obviously lesser station, carrying a heavy sack at his shoulder.

    “You see, my lord?  The very best a soul can buy.”

    The well-dressed man strode toward the temple with purpose and stopped beside the missing pillar, while the other man set the burden at his feet.  One by one, he removed objects of great value and placed them carefully within the empty nooks.   A jewel-encrusted chalice.  A golden figurine.  Slowly he emptied his treasures.

    A giant lumbered into view at the top of the stairs, similar to the one Eva had encountered near the Abyss.  Eva’s hand drifted to her daggers.  But there was no sign of hostility.  Cradled in the giant’s arms was an enormous pillar base forged from solid gold.  With a grunt and a heavy thud, he set it into place at the corner.

    The well-dressed man reached into his sack, withdrew a silver chain, and pressed it into Eva’s hands.  For a moment, something seemed to return to his eyes.  Eva turned the chain uneasily between her fingers.  

    “Ah, Paradise,” he sighed.  The blank stare returned.

   The giant lifted the support beam holding the roof aloft, and the well-dressed man stepped onto the golden base.

    “Wake up, man!” Eva snapped.

    He did not respond.  His eyes fixed across the city on an unhindered view of the idol of Mammon.  She wanted to slap him.  Anything to snap him out of it.  But she knew it would do no good.

    He raised his arms above him.  Strain crossed his face as the giant released the weight.  The well-dressed man stiffened and groaned.

    Eva turned away and lowered her head.  When she looked up again, she saw it for the first time.  A man supporting another building.  A woman in yet another.  A spire upheld by a dozen people.  A coliseum with tier upon tier of living souls.

    Every building had one.  Some had many.  Men and women alike.  Thousands of lost souls.  No.  Millions.  

    This was a city built from the damned.  Eva dropped the necklace and fled in horror.

    Eva stood near the front of the ferry, scanning the horizon.  Something was wrong.  The mist had gradually cleared.  The stars had begun to fade.  The sky had brightened.  No.  She was still underground.  And yet light streamed from high overhead, bright as day.

    One of the passengers approached and came to stand beside her.  She turned to face him.  He was dressed like the men she had known in Carnal-Policy.  He stood straight, carrying himself with confidence.

     “You are different,” he said.

    “How?”

    “You’re not like them.”  He gestured toward the other passengers huddled at the back of the boat.  A few were engaged in a lively argument.  “Charon noticed.”

    “You know Charon?” 

    “Of him,” he corrected.  “You and I… we’re different.  We’re aware.  Not like those sleepwalkers.”

“How do you know this?”

    “I didn’t at first.  But little things didn’t add up.  I was in my bed… and then I wasn’t.  Things felt… off.  I’d always been here.  And yet I knew I hadn’t.”

    Eva studied him, tensing slightly.

   “Little by little, I woke up.  Everything seemed so real, and yet I realized…”

   “Realized what?” Eva asked.

   “That I was in Hell.”

    Eva started.

    “It all made sense.  The bickering.  The fighting.  The pettiness.  Everyone acting mechanically.  Unaware.  And yet we remain in Hell by our own choice.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Some people have been in the Gray Harbor for centuries.  But they always find a reason not to cross over.  Not you.  Not me. We’re different.”

    “How so?”

    “They wait,” he said, with emphasis.  “But I’ve never waited for anything in my life.  And I’m not about to begin here.”

    Eva opened her mouth to speak, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  He didn’t care.  He kept talking.

    “These people…” the man said, nodding again toward the other passengers.  “They stumbled into it by chance.  But we know.”  He smiled with easy confidence.  “We know where we are bound.”

    Eva could not believe her eyes.  Before her, on the distant shore, lay a grand city.  Sublime.  Vast.  Beautiful.  Marble glistening in brilliant light.  Domes and spires rising above waterfalls and calm, reflective water.  This matched nothing she had ever heard about Hell.  Ever.

    Her world turned upside down.  No.  This could not be happening.  Had Alecto tricked her?  Everything she knew—everything she believed—seemed to come crashing down.  

    “And where is that?”  The words caught in her throat.

    “Why, Paradise, of course.”