veil into the Underworld?”
I knew I could open veils, but they had been to Faere where I’d already been before. This was something new, yet I was eager to try, as evidenced by how exuberantly I nod my head.
“Then give it a go,” he says, sweeping his hand toward the area roughly where we’d cross into the Underworld.
I close my eyes for a second, imagine my power and having unlimited abilities to do whatever I wanted at my disposal.
When I open them, I envision ripping into the veil and commanding the Underworld to expose itself to me.
And it does.
CHAPTER 7
Finley
The fables, stories, and myths of Hell were nothing like I envisioned when I visited the Underworld in my dream. The same holds true now as we step through the veil into what seems to be a monstrously large cavern that rises so high into the air that I can’t see the top—just generalized darkness that could resemble a night sky.
I always envisioned Hell would be an inferno of flames and smoke, echoes of screaming souls reverberating, and the stench of death all around.
There’s none of that.
Yes, The Pit off to the left glows orange and throws off heat, but it’s bearable. The circumference is not much wider than the Crimson River, so maybe at least two hundred feet or more in diameter. It’s still difficult to comprehend the river’s directional flow, especially on this side of the veil. From the depths of The Pit, the river defies gravity and flows up and out of it before turning parallel to the ground and heading in the direction of Micah’s realm, where it seems to cut off right where the veil exists.
I see why Boral brought us in on this side of the river because had we come in on the other side, we would have been trapped by sloping hills of rock and shale that encircle that portion of The Pit. It provides a horseshoe-shaped wall. When I examine it more closely, I see that cages are built into it. Square holes cut into the side, covered with thick bars, but it’s so dark inside that I can’t tell what’s being held captive.
“Demon experiments,” Boral says, and I turn to him. He nods his chin up at the individual prisons—hundreds and hundreds. “Kymaris feeds them the most vile souls that get sent to the Underworld. She then trains them for her personal use.”
I can’t stifle the tremor that moves up my spine.
Boral seeks to reassure me, obviously either seeing or sensing my reaction. “Don’t worry. They don’t roam free in the cities. They mostly reside in Kymaris’ castle or the wastelands between cities. But make no mistake, she’ll free them all when the veil comes down.”
He then points in the opposite direction, a wide stone road meandering over some low-slung hills of stone and dirt. Dead trees and bushes dot the landscape, and it’s clear they were never actually green and fertile. Just dead from the start.
Kymaris’ black castle rises—black obsidian with the orange glow of the Pit shimmering in the reflection. It’s nothing but tall, pointed spires of varying heights, probably only about half as large as Nimeyah’s castle, but, oddly… I like the architecture of it better. It’s not gaudy or flamboyant… just ominous as one would expect the Queen of the Underworld’s castle to be.
“This is the way to Otaxis,” Boral says, turning toward another path that cuts the space between The Pit and the castle. It curves around a craggy hill where I can’t see what’s on the other side, but given my last visit here, I’m sure the city is right there. I remember being on the opposite side of Otaxis and seeing the glow of The Pit from my vantage point up on a cliff, so I know they are nearby.
We all take a moment to discard the cold-weather gear, dumping it behind some rocks. We won’t be leaving this way, rather opening up the veil to lead us straight back to the condo as long as we are safe to do so. With our weapons in hand—me with my whip, Carrick and Maddox with swords, and Boral with long daggers holstered to each thigh, we make our way along the road to Otaxis.
As suspected, the massive city comes into view when we round the bend just the way I remember it from my dream.
Clusters of buildings built of mud and stone are separated by crude streets heavily lined with street vendors. The coloring of