Iago walked. It had taken him many times the years he had lived a man on earth to get free of the ice. Perhaps it had taken longer again than the whole age of the Earth itself until the birthing of him. He did not know; only he knew that he was free know. He had always thought his will was iron, and now he knew it was proof, even in the next world. Proof of all but him. Iago had watched the beast himself, and his dreadful champing of the great betrayer. He had wondered if the Devil had had an extra mouth if he himself would have been filling it.
Iago had many sins. He had walked by some, would not come to others, but his greatest had left him in Caina, where the traitors writhe under the ice and where Lucifer himself forever flapped, vainly trying to free himself. Iago mused as he struggled over the rocky ground, and wondered if his freedom came at some greater being's bidding, if some angel had set him loose to find him. But then, Iago would never cease to worry at him like a dog forever on the chase following its hated master.
Iago did not know how long he walked neither. It had been long, but not so long as he had been encased in ice. For some time now he had seen the harpies circling in the sulfurous air. He stumbled on a sharp rock and swore, struggling to keep his balance. As he descended towards the grove of gnarled trees he rubbed the scar across his palm and smiled slowly.
The way got no easier within the forest. The trees tore at his flesh, and bands of men crashed fearfully through the woods. Iago fled when he heard them, for he had sent he trampled man who had fallen in front of their fearful dash, and had no desire to slowly recover from the agony. Harpies wheeled and dove on men and trees. One caught sight of him and descended screeching, raking at the arm he sought to fend it off with. He struggled furiously, dodging heavy iron claws as she screamed her fury. She let go at once, and flew up for another lunge, but he ducked away beneath branches too tangled even for harpy's claws. He stayed there for some time before the demon would leave him for others to prey at.
At last he was left alone, and breathed again. Slowly he crawled forwards and stood. Iago wondered if the harpies could tell he did not belong here or whether they were mere beasts, clawing at anything that lived. He walked slowly through the grove now at ease, brushing fingertips lightly against branches and plucking off wigs like a man idly walking his garden and toying with the errant trees. A chorus of tormented whispers followed his progress but he did not seem to hear them.
Suddenly he paused, and turned. A tall tree, ebon and straight but for one crook in its broad trunk stood by him. Iago smiled, slowly. He reached out and broke off one twig, then another, and another. A chorus of names were whispered to the pitchy hell; Desdemona, Cassio, Iago. Iago's smile was unlike any other ever smiled, and his fingers were gentle as he snapped off twig after twig. "My lord." He said softly to the darkness.