Vial of Tears, page 21
She gripped the cold stone railing—which was broken in spots, leaving dangerous, unguarded sections—and began to go down. One false step and she could fall straight to the bottom. As she descended deeper and deeper into the pit, the smell made her gag; it was as if the walls themselves were exhaling a wet stale breath.
The guard’s singing had long faded away, but other sounds began to filter up to her. A scream. The clanking of metal. A grinding noise, like a rusted gate closing. She was blind in the dark. The air clung damply to her skin. And the stairway seemed endless, spiraling, down, down.
Finally, at the bottom of the staircase, she was greeted by a large black bird sitting on a perch, lit by torchlight. The upper half of its beak was missing. It gaped at her, adjusting its wings. “Bišā,” it squawked. Evil. “Dḥeltā.” Fear.
Sam made a wide circle around it, hunching her shoulders so she wouldn’t brush against the walls. She was in a low, columned passage, and there were crude cages everywhere. Inside them, lions paced with listless eyes, ribs showing through thin fur. Gruff voices rang through the dripping dark, and though Sam moved quietly, every footfall rebounded. Her breath came short and fast. Underneath her bare feet were puddles of dark liquid. Little bones.
“We will sacrifice her to the ancient god, Ba’al Shamem, Lord of the Heavens,” a voice said. Sam jumped and pressed herself against a column. The echo made it impossible to know which direction the voice came from. How close it was.
“Yes, she will be a debḥā,” another said.
“Fool! The great god only accepts infant sacrifices!”
“She is young enough, and pure. She will do.”
“You mule! We shall ship her to Melqart.”
“Yes. He would pay for ḥayuta such as this.”
“Melqart!” another said. “Have you not heard? He is nothing but a prisoner now, humming the notes of his own dirge. And so we shall kill her, and we shall eat her.”
A din of voices roared in agreement.
Sam peeked around the column and caught sight of a child, maybe eight or nine years old, lying on the ground and curled into a ball. Shackled by rusted metal chains, she was surrounded by five men—creatures—who nudged her with bare toes, their nails thick and purple. Eyes wild and white with no pupils. Tangled greasy locks of hair, bare scalps shining underneath. The girl visibly trembled, whimpering.
“Keep your filthiness away from her!” the largest of the creatures cried, swatting the others back. His entire mouth seemed to be full of canines.
A scrawny one with a lump on his back was pacing in circles, frothing at the mouth. He punched the largest creature in the chest.
“She is mine!”
“Get away from her!”
“I found her first!”
“We must give her to the Lord of Death!”
All at once they went into a frenzy, tearing at each other and cursing. Meanwhile, their prisoner tried to wrench her little wrists through the handcuffs. Sam could feel the dull, rusty sword from Marid’s cave hiding underneath her belt. Anguish lodged itself in her throat. She couldn’t fight five creatures with it. They would eat her, too.
But she had to do something.
“Here,” Sam hissed at the child. She made herself seen for only a second, and then ducked back behind the column. A moment later she looked again to find the girl’s eyes lit with surprise.
No, the girl mouthed back. She shook her head fiercely at Sam. Go. She had one hand out of the shackles, but the other was still trapped inside a rusted ring of metal.
The men fought like wild animals, clawing and gashing each other as they rolled across the floor.
“The Lord of Death will know nothing if we murder you!” one screamed.
They were completely distracted, savaging each other in a pool of torchlight. It was Sam’s only chance, so she took it, crawling to the girl across the cold, wet floor where she cowered in the dark. Sam put a finger to her lips and took the cuff in her hands. With a small grunt, she pried the band apart, forcing it open just enough for the girl to slide her hand out. With a look of pained triumph, she offered Sam a weak smile. Blood streaked her wrist. She cradled her hand to her chest.
“Slice him to pieces!”
“That would be a favor to me!” the hunchbacked creature said, his white eyes wild with fury. “Make me ruḥā. It could be no worse than this tainted life!”
“A demented lunatic such as yourself does not stay to haunt and roam the underworld!”
“No,” the largest one said. He pressed a filthy fingertip into the hunchback’s neck. “You will descend to swim in the muddy pool of the lowest level. Hell awaits.”
“Kill him!”
“You will rot in gihannā, you murderers, all of you!” the hunchback cried. “But you shall not see me there! I will become a ruḥā shadow and cling to your backs for the rest of your putrid days. I will follow you like a cloud of flatulence!”
Sam took the girl by the hand, and they dashed into the shadows and behind a wall. Sam faced the child and felt her heart break a little. She was so young, so pretty. She might have been someone’s little sister.
“This time you will escape,” the girl said to her.
“What do you mean?” Sam whispered. She shook her head. The men would hear them. “Go while you can.”
“Come with me,” the girl pled.
“I can’t. I have to find someone first.”
The girl looked confused. Sam wiped the tears from her soft cheeks, then threw her blanket around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a gentle nudge. She watched the child sprint in the direction of the staircase, nimble and lithe. For a moment, Sam wondered how they’d ever captured her in the first place, she was so light on her feet. She had to have been some kind of cat.
“Good luck,” she murmured, and then she turned back to find her way toward Rima.
“No!” A scream rang through the dungeons, echoing off the cold, hard walls.
Sam put her hands to her ears. No, no, no. They’d done it. They’d murdered that man. She could hear him gurgling on his own blood. The others had gone silent, and his last gasps seemed to be right in Sam’s ears.
Her own breath came hard and fast. What was she doing down here? They would see her. They would kill her next.
She edged away and soon found a hallway, but it turned pitch-black after several steps. She turned back and ran straight into a guard—the one she’d followed from the marketplace.
“Again?” he asked. He cackled and sank his fingers around her forearm.
“No,” she whispered, struggling to pull away. “Don’t touch me!”
“The stupid girl with the fine white teeth and the strange accent.” She strained to reach the sword in her belt, but his grip was brutally tight. “Next time I ought to feed you to the lions,” he whispered into her ear. “You would be digested and forgotten.”
17
The guard bound Sam’s wrists behind her back. He shoved her down another hallway, this one narrow and lit by torches held in sconces of human bones, their sickly green flames lapping at her hungrily as she passed. She stumbled by one cell after another until she lost count, their metal bars clenched tight as teeth.
“Again with you! You cannot escape. If you flee to the marketplace,” he said, as he flicked his whip across the backs of Sam’s thighs, “someone will bring you back for a reward, but only after they have corrupted you in a thousand ways.” Sam looked over her shoulder at him as he grinned at the thought, his teeth as narrow as pins.
Although the cells all seemed empty, Sam swore she heard breathing coming from dark corners, prisoners pressed against the walls.
The guard shoved again, his palm hard against her spine. She wished she could reach up and grab a torch and burn him with it, but even if her hands had been free, the torches here were chained in place. He continued to force her through a maze of passageways, one turn and then another, until they reached the end of a dank corridor.
“We are on an island,” he said, taking her by the shoulder, “and you cannot swim to the nearest shore.” He yanked her close to his face. His breath smelled like tobacco and the greasy leg of lamb he’d been sucking on. “If Môt did not forbid it, I would have you right now.”
He released Sam’s arm, and she felt the blood coming back in a hard rush. Then he pushed her over the threshold and into the cell, locking the door before he left. The sound of his cackling rattled through the hallways until all grew quiet again.
The cell reeked of urine. An animal made a keening noise. A damp cough resonated through the passageway, and then a howl. Sam’s own breathing was short and hard.
And then, from the far, dark corner of her cell, she saw a pair of eyes.
“Who’s there?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
A shape emerged from the shadows, and then a voice.
“It was the cream cheese,” it said.
“Oh!” she cried. “Rima!” She nearly fell to her knees at the sight of her sister.
“I’m telling you. It was that stupid caramel-flavored cream cheese. It poisoned our brains.” Rima was trying to smile, but it came out crooked and pained. “You have bangs,” she said.
“Oh my God!” Sam said, rushing toward her. “Quick, untie my hands!”
The moment her wrists were free, she grabbed Rima’s trembling hands in hers and turned them over. Yes, they were Rima’s and not the shapeshifter’s. Young and smooth, although most of her knuckles were cut, and her normally perfect fingernails were chipped and rimmed with grime.
“It’s you. It’s really you.” Sam dropped her hands and grabbed Rima madly around the waist, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re alive.”
“So are you.” Rima was shaking. She was wearing a dirty white dress—similar to Sam’s, but without the finer embellishments. “I was so worried… I didn’t know if I’d ever”—she took in a long, tattered breath—“if I’d ever… see you again.”
“You’re alive,” Sam repeated, sniffling against Rima’s limp hair.
“Alive, dead, in between. It’s all screwed up here, isn’t it?” Rima pulled back and wiped a hand across her face, smearing her tears into dirty smudges. She forced a small laugh, and then gripped Sam by the shoulders and shook her. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for you,” Sam said. “From the second you disappeared in the mountains.”
Rima nodded and hiked up her dress to wipe her nose. “The dog-ladies took me in a cart. I was blindfolded, and then I was on a boat.” She let out a sob, and Sam took her into her arms again. “I’m so hungry.”
“Are you okay?” Sam asked. “I mean, did they… hurt you?”
“No,” Rima said. “At least there’s that. They’re apparently saving me for some death god. Which is great, you know? Because I hear he’s the Underworld’s Boyfriend of the Year. According to the friendly creeper-guards,” Rima said, “he likes to keep women in the dungeons until they break a little. You know, lose their will to fight.” She took Sam by the hand. “There’s a bench here. We can sit down. Super comfy.”
The bench was sticky, and Sam thought she saw something worming through the wood. She sat anyway, moving closer to Rima until their thighs were touching.
“But you’re not broken,” Sam said.
“No.” Rima paused a beat too long. “Not yet, anyway. Maybe a little.” She sniffed. “Now that I see you again, I feel better.” She nudged Sam with an elbow, then looked her up and down. “So what about you? A ring?”
“Eshmun,” Sam said, and then told her about the cedar forest, Sarepta, and Sidon. She told her about Helena, and how she thought Eshmun might intend to marry her. How Môt must have gotten the same idea.
“It’s that stupid prophecy everyone keeps talking about,” Rima said.
Sam nodded. “Apparently we fit the description.”
“Getting married and having a kid was not on my underworld bingo card,” Rima said. “Eaten by a flying crocodile, sure. Honeymoon, no.” She squinted at Sam. “Is your neck bruised?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “For the second time, actually. I’m okay, though.” She sifted through her thoughts for a moment. “I think that guard thought I was you. Did you manage to get out, but they found you?”
“Twice.” Rima nodded weakly. “When these assholes come to bring disgusting food, I hide way back in the corner so they leave me alone. There’s one who can’t get the lock right—he always leaves the door unbolted. The first time I thought he made a mistake. The second time I thought he was doing it on purpose.” She shrugged. “But then he wasn’t there to help me find my way out, so I don’t know.”
Sam stood and tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Flakes of rust clung to her fingers as she pushed and pulled until her hands were slick with sweat.
“There must be another way out,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. There was always more than one way, wasn’t there? “Besides the spiral stairs.”
“Maybe. All I’ve found is one dead end after another. How do we get home, Sam?” Rima asked. Her eyes were swollen from crying; her cheeks looked sunken. Sam put a hand to her sister’s forehead, what Mom used to do when she checked for a fever. “Even if we get out of this prison, which way is Michigan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh,” Rima said. She sounded confused, disappointed.
“Do you remember that time we got lost at that county fair?” Sam asked, sitting beside Rima on the bench again. “We went on the Ferris wheel. We could see clear across the whole world—at least that’s what it felt like.”
“I was scared.”
“You were?” Sam asked. “That’s not how I remember it. You didn’t seem scared.”
“I was. And this is no county fair. I haven’t seen a corn dog stand anywhere, have you?”
“I’m just saying,” Sam said, “we’ve been lost before. Maybe we’ve been lost all along. Ever since Dad left.”
Rima fell silent. “Dad was the one who found us,” she finally said. “At the fair. But he can’t find us here.”
“I saw him,” Sam said. A chill shook her, hard, as if someone had suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. “I saw Dad here. I mean, it wasn’t really him, but for a minute I thought it was. It was awful and amazing all at the same time.”
“It’s this place,” Rima said. “It makes you think about dead people.”
“You think Dad’s… dead?” Sam asked.
“Of course he is,” Rima replied.
Sam was silent. Rima hadn’t even hesitated with her answer. A grinding metallic sound rang through the hallways, followed by a scream. She pulled her sister closer.
“I promised him I would try to keep things together,” Sam said, her voice faltering. Try hard, kiddo. I love you. The last words he’d ever spoken to her. “I’m starting to wonder if it was fair of him. I’ve taken that promise pretty damn seriously, you know? I was only twelve years old. A kid. What was I supposed to do? And now look at this mess we’re in. How am I supposed to make things right?”
“You will. Because you always do. That’s why Dad trusted you.” Rima looked down at their intertwined hands. “Your fingernails look like hell, sister.”
Sam let out a small laugh, but the sight of her own blackened fingertips startled her; the ruḥā stains were spreading. She tucked her right hand behind her, where Rima couldn’t see the trickle of black down her palm.
“When we get back,” Rima said, “we’re going to blow some of Mom’s big casino winnings on a mani-pedi day. I’ve decided.”
“Remember how Dad used to pick us up from school?” Sam asked. “He had that old red truck, and the windows were always stuck? Country music blaring. We’d go to Dairy Queen. He made us swear we wouldn’t tell Mom.”
“Sure,” Rima said. “And I remember the epic fights they had because we were so stuffed from Peanut Buster Parfaits we couldn’t eat dinner.”
“Epic fights?” Sam repeated.
“Yeah. They argued a lot.” She raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Let me know where you buy your rose-colored glasses because I want a pair.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. The only time she remembered her parents fighting was when Dad bought her a fishing pole and wouldn’t tell Mom how much it cost.
“You’ve got things all rearranged in your head, that’s all,” Rima said. “It got a lot more peaceful after he left.”
“Don’t say that,” Sam said. “Please, Rima. I like the way I remember him.”
“Okay,” Rima said. “He was amazing. I’m just saying. You’ve always had blind spots with our parents.” She let out a weary breath. “I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway. How long have we been here? What day do you think it is?”
Sam shrugged. “Friday maybe? I was supposed to present my business plan in Ms. Bishop’s class today.”
“Hooked,” Rima said. “Fishing Gear for Women.”
Sam had created a mock-up website, along with T-shirt slogans: FLY GIRL and REEL TALK. She’d designed a product called Bait Bling: lures that looked like jewelry.
“It was a good business plan,” Rima said quietly, her voice dropping off. Was.
The minutes dragged on, and Sam felt the cold sinking into her bones. Her heart was sinking, too. “So this is what you’ve been doing?” she finally asked, her voice breaking the silence. Her back crackled as she twisted her torso to stretch. “Listening to water drip and people scream occasionally?”
“I’m not sure it’s water,” Rima said. She tipped her head toward a wailing sound. “And I’m not sure those are people.”
“I can’t stand it.” Sam took a long breath and inhaled the stench of urine again. She put a hand over her face. “We have to do something. They think there’s only one of us, right? A stupid girl with white teeth and a strange accent.”
“Yeah,” Rima said. “So how does that work to our advantage?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam said. “But it should, somehow.” She pulled out the sword from Marid’s cave. “Maybe this will help us. That idiot didn’t search me. Must’ve thought I didn’t have anything, being you.”
