When we're set down again, I'm more than ready to leap out of the palanquin and stretch my legs. As soon as I do so, however, a group of demons surrounds me, all pointing their swords in my direction and stopping me in my tracks.
"Relax, stand down," Damien says, hopping from the palanquin and waving them away with one hand. "She's not trying to escape."
The demons relax, sheathing their swords - but I don't relax, and neither does Hieronymous, who'd been climbing out right behind me when it had happened. He grabs my arm and hisses "are you quite sure you haven't thought of any more new and exciting ways to get the pair of us killed today?"
"Soon as I do, you'll be the first to hear them," I whisper back, not taking my eyes off of the demon guards, who are now standing at attention in response to a barked order from the captain.
"On second thought, I think I'd prefer not to know," Hieronymous mutters back.
"You," Damien says, pointing at something behind me.
"Bruno, your majesty!" says the familiar voice. I turn to see Bruno standing at attention emself.
"You're out of formation," Damien barks with a scowl.
"So sorry, your majesty, I was just-" Bruno starts.
"Never mind. Take the guests and follow me."
"Yes, your majesty," Bruno says. E gets between us, takes each of us by the arm in es huge, demon's grip, and marches us behind Damien, who is sauntering toward the captain. When Damien's at the front of the assembly of guards, he turns, facing them, and waits until Bruno has joined him with the two of us.
Now that I'm out of the palanquin's curtained enclosure, I can take full stock of the scenery that surrounds me. We're at the base of a region of mountains that tower in the distance, making me think of my childhood readings of The Lord of the Rings. Unlike the aptly named Green Mountains of Vermont, these are craggy, rocky promontories, that give no indication of supporting any kind of life at all.
Our procession, which seems tiny in the shadow of these far-off giants, has stopped just where the ground has started to rise steeply in level - I'm sure the palanquin wouldn't get very far if we had continued on. I don't see any cave entrances, but there's the beginnings of a narrow path leading up, marked with a squat pillar of black stone. The pillar is about shoulder height to me, and the stone doesn't match any of the crumbly, gray rocks that make up the mountains. It's shiny, almost polished, and when I squint a little, it resembles a hunched figure whose face is hidden from view. The overall effect is extremely creepy, and I don't like to look at the stone for very long.
Instead, I look at Damien, who's begun to speak. "As you all know," he says, his voice full and ringing before the ranks, "we apprehended two human spies in my kingdom yesterday."
There's a shifting and muttering among the ranks, and I see not a few suspicious eyes cast up - not toward Hieronymous and myself, but at Damien. Apparently morale among the demon army isn't exactly at an all time high, and looking over the ranks, I begin to understand why. Standing here, Damien looks more like a human than a demon, and talk of human spies coming from him must seem a bit rich to this demonic flank, who could probably obliterate the three of us without a trace, if they felt so inclined
Damien scowls, as though realizing this himself, and considering what to do. He shoots out a hand and grabs me by the wrist, jerking me forward. Bruno lets me go, and I try to struggle free, but Damien has the advantage - he manages to get my wrist behind my back, twisting it until I squeak with pain. There's a scuffling sound behind me, but I can't register what it is. Damien casts a spell that binds both of my hands behind me, then grabs me by the hair, throwing me forward until I lose my footing and smash to the ground on my knees. Damien, one fist still in my hair, yanks my head up to face the ranks.
The demon horde stops muttering, and is now all attention.
"They may seem innocent!" Damien shouts. "They may seem harmless! But it is these very humans who would drive us from our kingdom! Our homeland! Our birthright!" his voice lowers in pitch, but not in volume. "Will we let them?"
"NO!" A roar in unison from the ranks before us, the sound bouncing off the backs of the mountains until this rank of guards sounds like an army.
Damien looks satisfied now. "No," he repeats. "And so they must be taught a lesson. This one," he says, jerking my head higher, "will be thrown into the Caves. The Shapeless will judge her, and decide the proper punishment for trespass and spying."
The cheer that starts is a little tentative, but grows in volume as more demons decide that this is a wonderful idea.
"That one," Damien continues, with a jerk that makes me sure he's pointing behind us to Hieronymous, "will return to the humans and tell them what he's seen. He'll tell them that we are coming - and when we do?" He lifts his voice expectantly, looking over the ranks.
"No mercy!" Damien shouts.
"NO MERCY!" the echoing roar sounds from the ranks.
"No prisoners!"
"NO PRISONERS!" The demons are really enjoying themselves now, unsheathing their swords and clanging them on their shields, the noise echoing until I think I won't be able to stand it.
"What is our birthright?"
"DEATH!" The clanging increases in volume, then abruptly stops as Damien puts his hands up to quiet them.
"Make a camp, and we'll return as soon as the human spy is duly punished," he says. The speech being over, he turns to the guard captain. "Everyone stays except em, and es partner," he says, jerking a thumb at where Bruno is standing.
Damien lets my hair go, and I struggle to my feet. I turn to look for Hieronymous, and find him right behind me, his arms held behind his back by Bruno so he can't cast. He's sporting the beginnings of a nasty looking black eye, and sputtering through a gush of blood from his nose.
"Bruno!" I say in a chiding tone before I can think too much about it.
"Sorry little o - er, Eliza," Bruno says, and e does look a little mollified. "But I can't let him go attacking his majesty, can I?"
I take one glance at the expression on Hieronymous's face, and decide to treat the question as rhetorical.
I'm grabbed again, this time by Bruno's companion, and hustled to the black stone marker. Bruno follows with Hieronymous. The demon horde cheers as Damien leads the way up the path, the four of us close behind.
After we round the first bend, Damien turns around. "All right, let them go."
Bruno and es companion gawk at Damien until he narrows his eyes. "They're not going to run away, I said let them go."
The grip on my arm eases, and I jerk myself away.
"Come on," Damien says, and starts back up the path. Hieronymous is the first to follow, and I rush to walk beside him. I open my mouth to ask if he's okay, but he turns to me with a glare.
"Not one word," he says, and sets about casting a healing spell on his eye and nose.
We walk in silence for a while, Damien in the lead, me struggling to keep up with Hieronymous's long strides, and Bruno and es companion taking the rear.
"Are you all right?" Hieronymous asks me out of the side of his mouth after I stumble over an incline.
"Just a few bruises," I mutter back, "it's okay." Still, the soreness in my knees vanishes a minute later, and I turn back to grin at Hieronymous, who I assume cast a healing spell. "You've still got some blood on your chin." I stop, and reach up to use the sleeve of my sweater to wipe the flakes of dried blood off his face.
"That is extremely unsanitary," Hieronymous mutters, but he holds still while I finish.
"Get moving, you two," Damien snaps from ahead on the trail. "Or get a room."
I whirl on Damien, suddenly furious. "What the hell is your problem anyway?" I shout. "I thought you said you weren't going to sacrifice me!"
"And I told you that I had to tell them all something," Damien says, lowering his voice so that only Hieronymous and I can hear him. "And anyway," he says, a smirk growing on his features, "it all amounts to the same thing, doesn't it? Whether I say you're a sacrifice or not, the minute you go in that cave, whatever's in there is going to do whatever it wants with you. You should just be glad I was able to make a decent excuse for your husband to come back to the palace with me, so he can tell me how to wake Ahmed up."
"Only after we have seen Eliza safely out-" Hieronymous starts, but Damien interrupts.
"Ah-ah-ah," he says, wagging one finger and looking mightily pleased with himself. "That wasn't the deal. The deal was, I take our little princess to the caves - not bring her back again."
Hieronymous grinds us teeth but doesn't say anything, and neither do I - because after all, Damien is right.
Damien starts up the path again with a swagger, and after a moment, Hieronymous and I follow.
"Don't worry," I say to Hieronymous. "I'm coming back out. Musette did, remember?"
This last sentence I say a bit louder, and I'm gratified when Damien turns to me with narrowed eyes. "What?" he says.
"Musette King," I say with a smile. "You remember her, right? She was expelled, but apparently this creature gave her her magic back. She's an incredibly powerful witch now, and she told me to tell you that she's coming to find you, soon as she can travel safely to the Otherworld."
"I'd like to see her try," Damien mutters, but now both the smirk and the swagger have disappeared as he continues up the path.
I turn to Hieronymous with a grin. "Not exactly Dante, but it shut him up pretty good," I say.
"It'll do," he replies, smiling faintly.
There isn't much chance of talking after that. The path increases precipitously in slope, and soon we're all breathing heavily, concentrating on heaving ourselves upward. Damien seems to have the most trouble with this, which I consider karmically appropriate - he seems to have gotten so used to being carried around that it's nice to see him exert himself for once. The demon guards, on the other hand, seem to thrive on the physical exertion, and seem a bit disappointed that they have to check their pace to keep to the rear.
After about an hour's worth of hiking, we come to a sort of plateau in the path, marked with another of those strange, shiny black stones. I walk up to it, examining it closely but not daring to touch it.
"Is that it?" asks Hieronymous, and I look up. He's looking at a fissure in a sheer rock face on the other side of the plateau, so narrow that I don't think any of the demons could enter it unless they went one at a time, and crab-walking.
"I think so," Damien says smoothly. "I haven't actually been here before, but-"
He stops, raising his eyebrows, and I turn. Bruno and es companion have gone to their knees in front of the strange black stone, muttering something that I can't quite make out.
"I think this might be it," I say, then turn back to the fissure in the rock. It seems so black against the gray of the mountain that it seems like a portal to somewhere in deep space - or worse. I'd been so confident that this was the answer to everything just five minutes ago, and now I wish I could think of an excuse to head back down the path and back to the relative safety of the ranks of demons waiting at the base of the mountain.
"Well?" asks Damien with a smirk, "are you ready, ice princess?"
My mouth has gone too dry to answer. I look at Hieronymous instead, but his face is carefully blank. I let out a breath in a huff.
"You don't really think I'd die in there, right?" I ask. Damien shrugs, and Hieronymous doesn't move. The silence is more terrifying than any negative answer I could have received.
I turn to Hieronymous again. "So, uh," I say, "just out of curiosity - if I do die, what happens to you?"
He doesn't answer.
"You lose your magic, right?" I ask. Still no answer, and terror suddenly curdles in my stomach. I'd spent all this time worrying about my own magic that I hadn't even considered what would happen to Hieronymous if I fail. Professor Potsdam had told me that I'm not gambling with just my own life, and I hadn't remembered that until just now. The thought makes me sick.
"Listen," I say, "we can go. We can just - go down the hill, I guess, I mean-" Tears spring to my eyes, and I rush to wipe them. "I wasn't thinking," I say. "I don't want you to-"
"What's the alternative?" Hieronymous says abruptly.
I open my mouth, but I can't think of anything to say.
"What happens if we go back down that hill?" he asks, sounding as impatient as he did when a student was too slow with an answer.
"If the demons don't kill us, they throw us in a dungeon I guess," I say. "We could teleport out, but that means-"
"We go on the run," he finishes. "And there won't be a safe place there or here we could stay for very long." He shakes his head. "Like it or not - and I certainly do not like it - now that we are here, this is the best alternative. It's the only one where we have the chance of becoming a team again."
"Are you - serious?" I ask.
"Go," Hieronymous says. "You'll be all right. I trust you."
I have to cover my mouth with my hand and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to keep from crying. "I'm so selfish," I squeak. "I'm sorry."
"I told you, I trust you," Hieronymous says. "Here." He casts, then extends one hand, in which he holds a small, portable light spell. I reach out and take it, letting the ball of light settle in my palm.
"Maybe," I say slowly, "when I get back? We can - I don't know, talk."
"All right, Hieronymous says, cutting his eyes downward. I can't think of anything else to say, so I turn to the rock face instead.
All I can do is put one foot in front of the other, carrying myself towards the fissure until it looms in my vision, the utter absence of light. I pause just before I set one foot inside, considering whether I should just turn and run, when I hear Hieronymous behind me say "Eliza."
I turn and see him standing by himself beside that strange black stone marker. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he presses his lips tightly together, then turns his hands, palms out, toward me.
I smile, and because I don't trust myself to speak, mouth "thank you." I squeeze the small light spell in my hand, then, taking one deep breath, step into the fissure.
The black surrounds me like a cloak as I step into the rock. The space around me seems cavernous after I squeeze myself through the fissure, and the light spell doesn't illuminate any walls or rocks around me - just empty space. I walk forward - at least, the direction I think is forward. When I turn around to try to orient myself, I can't see even a sliver of outside light from where the fissure in the rock should be.
I turn again, moving toward what I think is the interior of the mountain, half convinced that I'm walking straight into nothing. There's nothing in this cave that'll turn my life around at all - nothing that will help me. I might as well turn around right now, run back to Hieronymous, tell him he was right all along, that I never-
"Hello, little girl."
The voice seems to come from right in front of me, right behind me, and all around the cave. I look wildly around, but I can't see anything - and I realize that it's because my light spell has gone out.
"Um - h - hi," I say. My nails are digging into my palms.
"Are you lost?"
"Um… kind of?" I say. "I mean, I know where I am, technically, but I guess I don't really know where I want to be?"
"Are you lonely?" the voice says, a sort of low thrum in it, as though it's coming from the floor.
"Uh - maybe," I say, "a little bit, but-"
"I'm lonely - and for such a long time," the voice says.
"Uh-" I start, and then my voice goes as I'm lifted into the air. I'm cradled somewhere between the floor and ceiling. It's half comfortable and half not, as though I'm in a hammock with no back support.
"You're a strange little thing," the voice says. "I usually have to roam far afield to find companions, but you came here looking for me. Why?" A sigh in its voice as it asks, as though the very question makes the speaker sad.
I struggle to come up with a satisfactory answer. Gift givers in fairy tales usually don't take well to admissions of greed - but isn't that just why I'm here, to get something that I want for myself? They don't take well to lies either, so in the end, I decide to go with the honest answer.
"My friend told me about you," I say. "She told me you helped her when she needed it - you gave her magic back when it was taken away. Well - I need help too. My magic's been taken away - you can tell, can't you?"
A rustling, rippling sensation, as though soft tendrils were running under my skin. It's difficult not to squirm away from the sensation, but there's nowhere to squirm to.
"Ye-es," the voice says, "but is that what you really want?
"I-" I say. "Yes, I - what?"
"I think you want a lot of things, the voice says, half purring. "You want-" it says, deepening in tone, "you want to distinguish yourself, don't you?"
"I-I don't-" I say.
"How you'd hate to be ordinary," the voice says, and now I recognize it - it's Hieronymous's voice. Or is it Aloysius's? I can't tell, and the fact that I can't tell is somehow all the more terrifying. "After all," the voice says, "if you were ordinary, why should I want you?"
"Wh-" I start, my voice failing me.
"Would you like to play a game with me?" the voice says. It doesn't sound like Hieronymous's voice any more - the voice is back to its former ethereal quality, and I note a distinct tone of hope in its voice.
"Uh - ah - okay," I say, a little disconcerted, but relieved to be back on familiar territory. "Sure, but what - uh - what game?"
"Oh!" The voice sounds excited at the prospect of answering the question. I feel myself set down onto my feet again, and then a soft but inexorable pressure on my back. "Come here," the voice says, and I stumble forward. There's a sudden blaze of light in front of me, and I squint, covering my face with one hand. "It's all right," the voice says. "I'm allowed to play with anything in this room. See?"
I look, squinting against the light, and I see. There's a pile - no, piles, several piles of games in front of me in their happily colored cardboard boxes. I see Sorry, Parcheesi, several decks of cards, There's chess, a set of flowerstones, a board covered with tiny black and white chips set out in a random pattern. The room stretches in front of me, so long that I can't see the far wall, every inch of it crammed with boxes and strange devices.
"I have every game ever invented," says the voice. "See?"
"Yeah," I say. There are more games than I can count, most of them unfamiliar, but amid the piles my eyes light on a Snoopy vs. the Red Baron game that I remember playing with at my grandparents' house, a set of Magic: The Gathering cards, and a box that reads "Pretty Pretty Princess."
"I can play with anything I want," says the voice, "as long as it's in this room."
I pause in the entrance. Something about the way the creature says this is making the hairs on my arms stand up - but I'm not sure quite why.
"Go on," the voice says. "You can pick a game. Go in."
"I don't - I don't know," I say. "What happens if we play?"
"If you win," the voice says, "I'll give you what you want. What you really want."
"And what happens if you win?" I ask.
"Since you came to me…" the voice says, trailing a bit as though gleefully anticipating what it's going to say next, "then I get to keep you. For as long as you last."
"As long as I-" I start, and then I see it. On top of the nearest pile of cardboard boxes is a classic Monopoly game, Uncle Pennybags' mustachioed face grinning up at me.
Emmy, I think, Emmy won. And so can I.
I just have to pick the right game, is all. Not Monopoly, which always bored me to tears, not checkers or chess, either. No flowerstones for sure - Virginia tried to teach me the basics last year, but I'd gotten so lost she'd given up on me in frustration. I cast around again, trying to think of games I liked to play as a child, ones I know the rules to, inside and out. A card game? Poker like I used to play with Dad? He always let me win - Candyland? Too chancy - not enough skill in that.
And then I see it, under a Pictionary box - Clue, my absolute favorite when I'd been about ten. I'd gotten so good at it, none of the other kids in the neighborhood had wanted to play with me any more, so instead I'd played by myself, using the cards and tiny murder weapons to set up elaborate narratives in which every one of the manor guests killed each other in increasingly gruesome ways. All of this sounds a bit creepy now, but I'd had a system, down pat, of getting from room to room in the least amount of moves. If I'm going to win at any game in this weirdly vast space, Clue is the one I'll have to play.
"Okay," I say, stepping into the light, confidence filling my voice, "I want to play-"
Something thunks into the base of my skull and I begin to fall forward.
"I think I'll play with you," the voice says.
I hit the ground, face first.