The Crossing (Immortals) (32 page)

Somehow, Mac shoved himself into a sitting position.
The world around him spun dizzily as he looked into Arternis's tear-streaked face. He should be angry with her.
He wanted to be angry. But he was sick to death of anger
and darkness. "You might have trusted me, love."

"I did. I do. Trust has nothing to do with this-"

"Faith, then."

She buried her face in her hands.

His gaze shifted to Malachi. "You have what you want,
I presume. Me. You don't need her. Let her go now. To
her son."

Malachi inclined his head. "That was our bargain. Miss
Black has fulfilled her role in delivering you into my
power. She is free to descend deeper into the pit. Whether
she will succeed in her quest-" He spread his hands. "I
cannot say."

"But you won't interfere?"

The demon smiled. "I think not. I plan to be very busy
with my newest toy."

Mac smiled thinly. "How nice for you. Artemis?" He
waited until she looked up. "Get out. As quickly as you
can. Find Zander and don't look back."

"But you-"

He shook his head. "Not your problem, love."

Tears streamed down her face. "Mac, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just go."

They were the last words he managed before Malachi's
hand lifted and consciousness left him.

At Malachi's nod, two foul-breathed demons grabbed
Artemis by the upper arms. She cast one last anguished look
at Mac's motionless body before the thugs dragged her off
the stage. They didn't stop until they'd reached a blank
metal door. Wrenching it open, they tossed her through.

She experienced a brief, sickening moment of weightlessness; then her stomach was left behind as she plummeted through inky darkness. Frantic, arms flailing, she
tried to brace for impact.

To her great relief, she landed in water-or something
similar, but thicker. She inhaled a gasp of something sour
before the substance closed over her head. Lungs bursting, she gave a furious kick. Her feet encountered slick
mud; she propelled herself upward. Her head broke the
surface, her lungs seizing on thick oily mist.

All around, sparks rained from a glowing red sky, sizzling
as they struck the surface of the lake. Kicking to keep herself afloat, she squinted through the gloom. Sheer walls
rose from a dark lake. A splash not too far off to her right
sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn't the only swimmer.

She stroked toward the rocky shore. Hauling herself up
on slippery stone, she fought her tears. She hated herself.
Hated what she'd done to Mac. Hated every choice she'd
made that had led her to this horrible place.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She clung to the hope of Mac's increasing death magic.
He'd taken out the Basher in minutes. Perhaps, given time
to plot a strategy, he could find a way to escape Malachi.
She fervently hoped he could. As for herself, difficulties
loomed large. Malachi had promised not to interfere with
her quest, but his previous offer of assistance in fighting
Hecate was not part of the new deal. She'd protected Zander's body from immediate harm, but if she couldn't figure
out a way to free his soul from Ptolomaea, her betrayal of
Mac would have been for nothing.

She heaved herself to her feet. Her right knee throbbed,
and her neck was stiff. Try as she might, she couldn't slough
off the swamp's oily waters. Great winged creatures circled
overhead, black silhouettes against the bloodred sky.

She knew where she was. The walled city of Dis, Hell's
sixth level. Tilting her head, she could just make out the
top of the city wall. More winged creatures, aligned like
sentinels, sat atop the battlement.

Two of the creatures swooped low, diving on ravens'
wings. The monsters were ravenlike in their lower bodies, but their heads and chests, far from being birdlike,
had the aspect of a hag-wrinkled skin, coarse hair, sagging breasts. Their odor fell on her like a shower of ash.

Artemis shuddered. Harpies.

She shrank against the wall. The harpies circled low,
then blessedly flew off. Her lungs relaxed. Setting a shaking hand to the wall, she started moving, following the
city's curving perimeter. The passage to the next level had
to be on the other side. Surely there was a gate somewhere.

Her progress on the slippery rock was slow. Sparks
rained down around her. High above, harpies circled,
seemingly disinterested in her progress. She didn't trust
them to stay that way. Focusing her magic, she conjured
the best death glamour she could manage. It wasn't much. She wasn't sure it could fool a blind ogre. But it was the
best she could do.

When at last she reached an arched portal, she was surprised to find its massive iron gates standing open and unguarded. On the other side of the archway, flames snapped,
human figures darting between sheets of fire. None of the
corpses looked her way. Her entry to Dis seemed unimpeded.

Could it really be that easy?

She inched along the wall, until she reached the wide
path of red stone, a raw red tongue that led from a deserted dock into the gaping maw of the city.

She stepped on its polished surface. It was as if she'd set
off an alarm. The harpies screeched. The closest one
dove, its ragged teeth grazing Artemis's arm. She ducked
her head and ran toward the portal.

She didn't get far. The bird-hags fell on her en masse,
screaming obscenities. Artemis fell back, shielding her
head with her forearms. Sharp teeth gouged skin. A tuft of
hair was torn from her scalp.

Her defensive spells had little effect. She spat out one
last curse before rolling hard to the left, off the path.

Immediately, the harpies drew back. Wings flapping,
they rose and alighted on a deep ledge above the open
gate. One sent a taunting cackle in Artemis's direction before setting to preening her dirty feathers.

Artemis rose to her knees, breathing hard. Blood trickled down her arms. The portal of Dis loomed tall, the
rusted spikes of its raised portcullis aligned like rotten
teeth. She eyed the harpy, pulling at a wing with thick red
lips. One black raven feather fluttered to the ground. A
gust of hot wind swept it away from the path. It landed
near Artemis's knee.

She stared at the feather, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind. Anxiety skittered along her nerve endings. Did she dare cast such a dangerous spell? The capacity was
in her ancestry, but she'd never before attempted to draw it
out. It was difficult, and could be deadly, even under the
best of circumstances.

Here in Hell, she had precious little to protect her. No
consecrated anthame, no purifying salt. The ground beneath her knees was slick with oil. Above the gate, the
harpies waited. She'd never be able to fight her way past
them.

She reached out and grasped the feather. A harpy
stretched, flapping its wings, its pendulous breasts swaying.
For one heart-stopping moment, she thought it would take
to the air. Then it settled its wings and pecked at something
near its feet.

There was no need for Artemis to cut her flesh; the
harpies' attack had drawn more than enough blood. The
spell called for fire, too. Ripping a scrap of fabric from
the hem of her shirt, she caught one of the falling sparks
and willed it to burn. Placing the infant flames on the oily
ground, she set the feather atop it, and watched it burn.

Extending her arm, she dripped a circle of blood around
herself and the fire, forming a tight ring of protection.
Within it, she croaked the words of the spell. They were
hateful syllables, twisted and ugly, culled from a language so
ancient that only a few living humans-mostly psy-ops
officers-knew it had existed. Her body shuddered with
each successive verse. Her gorge rose, her stomach knotted.
Every drop of light in her essence rose in protest.

The harpies, perhaps sensing a subtle change in the atmosphere, flapped their wings. The leader craned its neck,
searching. Artemis spat the next verse of the spell. A pulse
sprang up inside her circle, a malicious heartbeat. Her resolve faltered. It wasn't too late. She could still abort the
spell. But she knew she wouldn't. She'd come too far to
turn back now.

The spell's concluding syllable fell from her lips. Air rushed from the circle. Her lungs spasmed in the vacuum
left behind. Her body went numb.

Panic turned her blood to ice. She wanted to scream,
wanted to run, wanted to claw her skin-anything to
prove she was still alive. But her limbs were frozen, her
mind blank. Flames of death ripped through her soul. Her
vision went red, then black.

Her life essence expanded, then shattered.

In the aftermath of the explosion, several long seconds
passed during which Artemis wasn't sure she still existedat least not in any form she could comprehend. Then her
eyes blinked open, and the gates of Dis came into view.

The harpies were nodding and conversing among themselves in horrid squeaks and grunts. Not one of the creatures looked toward Artemis, though the protection of the
blood circle had dissolved. Her fire and her dark spell had
burned out.

Cautiously, she lifted her arm. A dark wing rose in its
place. She peered down at a black-feathered chest and
bird's claws. Her raven's beak opened on a triumphant cry.

She'd done it. She'd shifted into raven form.

She gave a few experimental flaps of her wings. Her
body lifted into the hot air. Amazing, how instinctive the
act of flight was. She eyed the gate, guarded by the
harpies. With a flick of her tail feathers, she turned and
flew in the opposite direction, out over the swamp.

The oily surface of the bog stretched into a dark eternity. Banking hard to the left, she flew along the curving
wall of Dis, leaving the gate far behind. When she thought
she'd put enough distance between herself and the harpies,
she climbed high on an updraft. Wings outstretched, she
glided over the walls.

The city of Dis, spread out below her, was vast. From her
bird's-eye vantage, she made out the division between the
city's upper and lower regions-Hell's sixth and seventh
levels. Fire consumed the upper reaches, flames bursting from charred structures. The stench of burning excrement
rode on rolling waves of soot. The damned of this level,
hundreds of thousands of burning corpses, darted through
the flames, shrieking their never-ending agony. When alive,
they'd been blasphemers who had cursed and defiled everything sacred in their lives. The searing flames of Dis would
never burn hot enough to cleanse them.

An inner wall ringed the city's lower level. Artemis flew
over it and swooped low into a wide pit. Deep niches
pockmarked the cliff's face. Wailing corpses, imprisoned
inside these cells of pain and misery, cried out to Artemis
as she passed. Flagellated by laughing demons, gouged by
cackling harpies, or beaten by hunched gargoyles, the violent endured the acts they'd committed in life.

Any sympathy she might have had evaporated abruptly
when she flew close to one of the niches, where two chained
corpses, male and female, writhed under the iron-pronged
whip of a green-scaled demon.

"This is your fault!" The man's face contorted with
rage. He yanked on the chain binding his wrists to the
woman's, jerking her to her knees.

The woman kicked out, snarling curses. "You bastard! If
it hadn't been for you and your death magic-" Her teeth
sank into his thigh.

The man brought his bound fists down on her shoulders
with crushing force. "Fucking demonwhore. I should have
dumped you in the gutter. I knew you'd drag me dowaaah!" He arched his spine, gasping as the demon's whip
cracked across his back.

"Up yours, you loser!" The woman's hair stuck out in
wild, greasy snarls. Using the chain for leverage, she
struggled to her feet and clawed the man's bloody back
with her long, jagged fingernails. "The gods only know
what I ever saw in you!"

"Why, you stinking bitch-"

The male corpse lunged for the female's throat just as the demon's whip landed on her buttocks. They fell together in a biting, punching tangle. The demon rose above
them, laughing.

Nauseated, Artemis banked toward the center of the
pit, as far from the damned as possible. Malice and hopelessness worsened the farther she descended. She couldn't
repress a shudder as she dove deeper into the morass of
suffering.

The next level could only be worse.