step, the ground’s much broken. And a word, ladies, by your leave: watch
yourselves in there. So many go in and don’t come out again.”
Looking at the dark town crouching behind brazen gates, Mriga could believe it.
Hell looked a great deal like Sanctuary.
One by one they got out of the boat and started up the slope. Siveni was last
out, and so busy looking up at the rocky ground that she missed what was right
under her feet. She lost her footing and almost fell, just managing to catch
herself with her spear. “Hell,” she said, a bitter joke: The spear spat
lightnings.
The ferryman, watching her, frowned slightly. “We don’t call it that here,” he
said. “Do we now, love?”
The bones rattled slightly. “Ah well. Off we go then….” And they were alone on
the far shore.
The gates were exactly like those of the Triumph Gate not far from the
Governor’s Palace, but where those were iron, these were brazen, and locked and
mightily barred. The four stood together, hearing more strongly than they had
yet the sounds of lamentation from inside. It was beginning to sound less
threatening, the way a horrible smell becomes less horrible with exposure.
“Well,” Siveni said, “what now? Is there some spell we need?”
Ischade shook her head, looking mildly surprised. “I don’t normally use this
route,” she said. “And the few times I’ve bothered, hell’s gates have been open.
Very odd indeed. Someone has been making changes …”
“Someone who’s expecting us, I’ll wager,” Siveni said. “Allow me.” She lifted up
the spear, leaned back with it like a javelin-thrower, and threw it at the