What Lies Below

Andrenik Y. Sergoyan

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ISBN: 9781370972593
1st Edition

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition: 2017, Smashwords, Inc.

First Mass Market Edition: 2017

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No one knew where it came from. Its origins, lost in the fog of antiquity, had been relegated to myth. But centuries ago, drawn like moths to flame, a village had sprung up around it. I’d often pondered why our forbearers had chosen such malevolent grounds for our society’s foundation. Where most towns held a bustling market square at their hearts, ours was a massive wound in the earth—a pit as wide as ten men tall and as deep as the mountains are high.

For most of the year, the pit laid quiet and hungry. Only when our mores proclaimed a crime worthy of death, would a man find himself lowered into its depths. Once a year a special offering was made; an innocent life proffered to the dark god that dwelled in the cellar of the world.

Snow had come the night before, blanketing the world in white. Still, every man, woman, and child braved the cold and gathered around the precipice of the pit to observe the annual Solstice Offering. Hundreds huddled together for warmth, all dead-eyed and shivering as Jula’s hands were bound to a bloodstained, oaken alter and she was hoisted out over the abyss. Her once constant caterwaul had dwindled to a whimper. She hadn’t the will left to fight. Occasionally a raspy, “please,” escaped her, but even that seemed more rote than genuine now.

For two days and nights she’d remained under constant guard, locked inside a low hanging gibbet beside the pit. What else was one to do those long and lonely nights but lament the coming end? And Jula, she hadn’t been able to cease wailing until dehydration ceased it for her.

The Fast, they called it. What a horrific ritual. Out in the rain and snow and biting cold without food or water, left on display so folk could lament, honor, or in some cases ridicule. Most often you were alone, alone to try and rationalize the terrible fate that awaited you but an arm’s length away. No, the Fast was a stay of execution which only served to heighten one’s hysteria, for the beast below devoured fear.

The wheel turned, belching out a clunk with each rotation, and with every clunk, Jula descended deeper into the abyss. “Please,” she cried over and over, fainter and fainter, until the word became a splinter in my head. It had been all she’d said for nearly a day now. Benumb of emotion, it was a whisper that fell from her lips onto deaf ears. If never I hear that word again…

Most didn’t languish on the offerings as I did. The shrouds our women wore certainly made their fates easier to stomach. They had no face or form. Beneath I’m sure was the rheumy-eyed mien of a terrified girl, but to the onlookers, a writhing white sheet descended into darkness.

None in the congregation had lifted a finger to help her, not even her own father. He'd watched on without a tear in his eyes. When asked if anyone wished to say a parting word, all were mute including him. None begrudged him though. He’d done his duty, attending her last rites the night prior and speaking kindly on her behalf. She’d been an obedient daughter, he’d told the crowd, though he regretted none had chosen her hand in marriage. It was unspoken but assumed the few suitors who’d seen her unshrouded during her betrothal viewings had left thinking her homely. Now, strapped to the altar, her lingering virginity had sealed her fate.

Though I hadn’t known her in life, during the Fast I paid my respects. I always made it a point to sit with a sacrifice and lend them an ear before the end, especially those who feared it as much as Jula did. I suppose a part of me just wanted to speak to a girl, even one as terrified as she.

Outside of the Fast, women rarely conversed with men, for a slip of the tongue often resulted in swift and violent repercussions. They’d speak only when spoken to, and always were their responses measured and short—nary a word wasted in conversation. Thus espousing one’s opinion or desires were privileges reserved only for men. But during the Fast we spoke as equals. There was no fear of retribution, for her end lay in sight. In those final days, we were both simply people. I craved such reciprocity.

Until the next winter solstice, their words would grow as shrouded as their bodies. I found it best to avoid them during those long months between Offerings, for to speak to a women was to terrify a women. Even if I promised to tell no one, or promised no lash would wound them should they speak freely. Even if I swore all I desired was to get to know them, or to natter, or perhaps simply hear the mellifluence of their voice—for I had not a whit of lechery in my heart—their responses remained one word at best.

But I couldn’t blame them for their lack of trust. There were plenty of men who made sport of tricking women into wading through forbidden waters. They’d look on with wicked smiles as our elders reigned the lash down upon their backs, and jeer when their shrouds suffused with blood. Sometimes I fantasized about bringing the lash down myself, only not on a woman, rather on the backs of the men who incited such spectacle.

Most thought me foolish for lending my time to Jula. It was a great honor, they’d tell me. “Her family should be proud.” But there was another part of me; a part far less selfish and full of sorrow for this poor creature. Though I couldn’t see her face beneath the shroud, her voice had been ripe with terror and longing and every utterance quelled tears of my own.

Standing for hours in the snow outside her gibbet, I had tried to comfort her, to tell her it would end swiftly, but Jula was no fool. How was I to know what end awaited her down in the pit? And my ignorance I wore like a shroud of my own.

Once her voice had been completely swallowed by the gloom, Elder Marhkarian declaimed, “Untouched by the lascivious hands of men. Her body unscathed by the lapping eyes of the lustful! This pure and virgin form we offer to quell its hunger, to sate what lies below.” Murmurs of approval rolled through the crowd. “Through sacrifice, we spare ourselves its terrible wrath. Give thanks to the lamb we’ve lost, and live another year benighted of sin and regret.”

While the rest of the town returned to their daily lives, I remained. I stayed until the wheel stopped turning and the altar finished its descent. Until Jula was truly gone.

On the following morning, a new year dawned. Its birth came with grunts from a cadre of men turning the wheel in shifts, bringing the altar back up from the depths. It took well over an hour, and when it emerged all that remained of Jula was a blood-soaked tatter of cloth and a fresh stain upon the altar.

Nearly a year later my father arranged my own betrothal viewing. Allic was her name. Daughter to one of the wealthier families, father proclaimed her dowry such that our home would be built with bricks of gold. Exciting as it was to adopt such a fortune, to see a woman unshrouded for the first time—other than my mother, that is—was a far more desirable prospect. How I prayed her hair was as golden as my mother’s, for the only womanly beauty I’d known was held by her. I wondered what her nose looked like, what color her eyes were, if she had thin lips like my mother, was her smile genuine?

In a windowless room, her father stood at her back and removed her shroud so I could gaze upon her. My astonishment must’ve been mistaken for displeasure, for seconds after our eyes met, tears poured from hers.

I ran to her and cupped her hands in mine. “Why do you cry?”

“Do I displease you, my lord?” she asked with a sniffle.

Her father was furious. “Tears at a viewing! Don’t insult him, girl!” He grabbed her by the shoulder and squeezed until her face folded up in pain.

“There’s no need for that!” I remonstrated, then pried her from his grasp and sat her down beside me. “I’m far from displeased. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I dried her eyes with the sleeve of my tunic. Still wet, they sparkled; deep, turquoise pools that reminded me of my youth. I brushed a raven lock from her face and watched as her lips pulled at the edges—a genuine smile.

“I thought perhaps you didn’t approve, my lord.”

I shook my head. How could she be so blind to her own beauty? But then I realized the truth of it. She, as I, had no concept of beauty. Until I laid eyes on her, I didn’t know what true beauty was, for there was no comparison.

Words fell from my lips without thinking. “You are a dream, Allic, a wondrous dream.” Moonstruck, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I couldn’t even blink.

She blushed and downcast her gaze. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Please, call me Tybier.” I raised her chin back up. “Let’s forgo such archaic formalities.”

Her father scowled at my lack for tradition. “So you accept?”

“With all my heart.”

We were to be wed in a fortnight and during that time we spent every day together. I learned Allic loved to listen to the rain. When on errand for her father, sometimes she’d sneak into the fields to smell the daffodils. When asked what she did for pleasure, she told me such joys were reserved for men, but I protested until she confessed her one secret joy. Whenever her father gave her yarn to patch his clothes, she’d squirrel away a bundle. When he was asleep, she’d knit the husks of small animals and stuff them with wool. She even showed me her collection, hidden away in a hole in her wall.

On occasion, when no eyes were privy, she’d pull back her shroud so I could gaze upon her. My love for her blossomed with every moment together.

Three days before our wedding, the Choosing was held. At the center of town in front of the pit, the elders stood upon a platform that extended out over the brim. At their backs, the altar loomed, tethered at four corners to a massive crane.

Elder Marhkarian read from an ancient writ, “Today begins the Fast. In three moons, a new year will dawn. Before the winter solstice draws to a close, we must choose a sacrifice. One untouched by sin. A corporeal essence; pure, virgin, and without reproach. One who will sate the hunger of what lies below and spare us all its terrible wrath!”

From a leaden sky, the occasional rogue snowflake fluttered down to dapple Elder Mahkarian’s cassock. He pulled a sliver of parchment from a sack and cleared his throat. Some of the more sadistic men elbowed one another and whispered the names of those they hoped graced the parchment. But for most, it was downturned eyes and silent prayers.

“This year’s sacrifice,” the world froze. No one moved an inch. Snowflakes hung static in the air. The wind stalled and the world went quiet, “is…” My heart gulped blood and my lungs seized. Such an unlikely turn of fate, though somehow I knew whose name was scribed on that paper. Like a window into the future, I heard it well before his lips moved. “Allic Grimoire!”

My vision fluttered and my throat tightened until chords pushed from my skin. I was drowning. I tried to squeak out a word but it turned to ash in my mouth. None cheered at the selection, but none denounced it either. Even Allic seemed to accept her execrable fate, for she made no protest, just secretly cupped my hand in hers. Shroud or no, I knew those blue eyes welled once more with tears.

Beneath me the world spun out of control and my stomach strangled my spine. I nearly fell, but caught myself on the shoulder of the man beside me. Eventually I found my voice. “But we’re betrothed! We’re to marry the first day of the new year!” A marriage following the solstice was said to be a blessed one. One immediately before was said to be cursed. A silly superstition, or so I thought, but her father had insisted.

“But you are not yet wed. Her flower remains.” Elder Marhkarian raised his hands to the sky and proclaimed, “Is the pain of Tybier paramount to the pain of another? Should Allic be spared so one of your daughters can instead fall? Should Allic not be proud of her coming sacrifice? Pain she will most certainly endure, but her pain will be reaped tenfold upon us all should the beast’s hunger endure! So weep not for Allic, for her death means life for us all!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd followed swiftly by hands upon Allic. She didn’t resist.

“Let her Fast begin!”

“But Elder Marhkarian, I’ve seen her face! I’ve seen her unshrouded!”

“Young Tybier, the shrouds protect them from the sinful hearts of men. They wear them to stave our dark desires. But it is her virtue the beast craves, and her virtue remains!”

A gelid wind cut right through me. As if someone else moved my lips, I shouted, “At least let me try!”

Everyone stared at me as though I’d sprouted horns. Elder Marhkarian asked with his eyes, “Try what?” to which I replied, “Let me try and slay the beast.”

Unsure glances passed amongst the crowd. Her father guffawed, while mine pinched the back of my neck and said, “My son, you sully our name with such talk. Please, be silent!”

“I care not for our name! I care only for Allic! Let me at least try. Lower me into the pit, sword in hand. Either the beast will have a snack before devouring my love, or we shall never have need of a sacrifice again!”

Silence followed my blasphemous rant. Realization of what I’d said finally wiggled its way up into my consciousness and I became acutely aware I might soon be lowered into the pit lacking a sword, not to mention unbound appendages.

Suddenly Allic’s father spoke up. “What harm could come of it? Plenty a malcontent we lower into the pit. Why not him?”

“To cast down a deceiver is a far cry from an armed man set on violence!” said the elder. “Such heresy would most certainly incite retribution! Why, were you not so distraught I’d have a mind to toss you in right now!”

“Then a hidden blade. We have never seen what lies below. We know not what lurks in the depths of the pit. Lower me down upon the altar. Bind my hands if you will, but allow me leave should I need it. If I find the beast to be as we fear…if it’s truly insuperable, then I will incite no such retribution. I will offer my flesh willingly. You have my word. But should I find it otherwise…give me a chance to end this. For Allic. For us all. Just a chance! Please!”

“No, Tybier. It would mean our end. There will be no more talk of this.”

And there wasn’t.

All night and into the next morning I clung to her side. Through the bars of the cage, our hands caressed. None came to see her. It was just as well, for all she needed was me, and until her end, by her side I would remain.

We talked of the lighter things; dreams and wishes and our youth. I promised to find her in our next life, promised we’d be together someday, somehow, but it all felt a hollow chimera, for what I truly wanted was to plot her escape. But of that, we spoke not a breath. Should such talk be overheard by the sentinel—her constant guard—I’d find myself tossed into the pit as well. Besides, I had no mind for such subterfuge. I was a carpenter, and little else.

Instead of talk of escape, we enjoyed our last two days together in reverie, fantasizing about a life we’d never know. I wept often, though strangely, she did not. Her fey mannerisms wounded me at first, for I misinterpreted them as an uncaring toward our stolen life together. I never questioned it though. After my time with Jula, I thought it best not to dwell on the horrors ahead. Soon I came to realize Allic’s solace was a result faith, faith that her death would save us all from whatever fell creature stirred beneath the earth. Though I could’ve protested such thinking, I refrained.

On the final night of her Fast, Allic was taken to the ritual house to be bathed and have her purity inspected by the elders’ wives. They dressed her in holy vestment and returned her to the gibbet for last rites. A small coterie circled the cage to observe. Allic made not a sound in remonstration, and perhaps following her example, none said a word, not even me. When it was over, the crowd dispersed and I returned to her side.

Her sentinel stood opposite us with sword in hand. A stalwart protector was Nygail, one of two who held such an honorary position each solstice. Renowned as one of the best warriors in our village, I’d grown to respect and fear him over the years, but now…

As the witching hour approached, my betrothed slumped down in her cage and fell to dreams. When her breathing grew faint and I was certain she’d lapsed, I approached Nygail. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“When I was a boy,” I said, “at midday when the sun was highest and its rays shined straight down, I’d lay on the edge of the platform and stare into the abyss. Sometimes, during a sweltering summer, a stench would rise up to meet me. Unbearable, but I persevered, for I longed to catch a glimpse of what lived below. Do you know what I saw, Nygail?” He eyed me with suspicion but said nothing. “Darkness. Only darkness. Just an empty, ageless pit, void as the space between stars. And do you know what I heard? Nothing. Not a whisper. The elders claim the beast roars up from the depths when angered, but not once did I even hear a bellow. Not a whimper. Nothing at all.

“For a millennia we’ve given our women over to whatever foulness dwells below, believing in ancient mores and benedictions that claim, should we falter, our world will be torn asunder. But you know what, Nygail? All of it…every word of it…is a lie.”

At that, his eyes widened and a gravelly voice barked back, “Such words only flow from the mouths of apostates, Tybier. Your pain of loss cannot shield you forever. Tread lightly, young one. One more word and—”

“And what?” I stepped onto the platform with one hand on the crane and stared down into the abyssal deep. The walls were slick with green and brown lichen and a charnel smell wafted up to sting my nose.

“Do you wish to join her on the morrow? Then mind your tongue.”

With my back to him, I replied, “Perhaps you’re right. I should just accept my love’s fate and be at peace with it. But I fear I won’t be able to carry on without her. To watch her reap the descent… I might as well join her.” The words barely made it past the apple in my throat. A single tear ran down my cheek. Its dampness stung my flesh in the frigid cold of winter. How I wanted to turn and lay eyes on my shrouded bride just one more time, but couldn’t. Something deep down shielded me from such wanton pain. Though we’d just met, this longing ignited every fiber of my being. Somehow I knew, should I lose her I would never be the same. Fear and hate, jealousy and wrath for those who’d cast her down into this hell; all emotions washed away, consumed by one immutable verity—love.

Such a pull I’d never felt before. Not even for my own mother and father. Not even for myself. How could I ferry the rest of my days without her? How could I live amongst those who destroyed the very pith of my being? “I might as well join her,” I muttered to no one. A single snowflake made a lazy arc down into the pit. I leapt forward to follow it in.

On countless midsummer days I’d laid on the edge of the platform and stared down into darkness. Where other children avoided the pit like the plague, I’d always been entranced by its sinister wonder. Prone upon the blood-dappled wood I’d examined the strong stanchions beneath that secured the platform to the stone walls of the pit. I remembered thinking how it looked to be built as one—stone entwined with wood—as if its entirety was designed from birth for this one sanguinary purpose.

Above, I heard the sentinel gasp then clomp up the wooden steps onto the platform. My pounding heart drove stakes through my chest. Blood roared in my ears and my stomach coiled in on itself. Nygail’s head poked out from above. Hanging from one of the stanchions, I took hold of his leg and pulled him down over my shoulder. He made not a sound. Just vanished into the blackness.

Though I lacked the strength of men like Nygail, I was no weakling. Still, I knew but a flicker of time and I’d never be able to pull myself back out of the pit, so with muscles tight and burning and my will raging I put one hand over the next and hauled myself out. Back on the platform, I rolled to my side and gulped down as many breaths as my lungs could bear.

Allic still slept soundly in her cage. There was no need for her to know a good man just died to save her. “Sleep,” I whispered. “When you wake, perhaps your fate will not be so grim.”

Fear hadn’t found me yet. Strange as it seemed, I was filled with nothing but purpose. Perhaps that is the power of love; an emotion that obliterates all else, leaving only a covetous desire to infuse one’s soul with another’s. But that lack for fear was fleeting. As I stalked back to my home and hefted my father’s sword down off the mantle, that primal instinct returned with a vengeance. A sinking terror gripped me at the prospect of what lay ahead, as well as behind.

As I ghosted through the gloom of night back toward the pit, I thought, There’s no time for regret. Let what lies below judge me for my sins, if the beast even truly exists. Allic is worth a thousand Nygails!

As I passed the ritual house, I contemplated taking the sword to Elder Marhkarian and cutting the key to the gibbet from around his neck, then absconding with Allic into the night. We would live as outcasts, but we would live together.

“And next year, there will be another offering; another Allic, another… No! This has to end, and end tonight!”

I tightened my grip upon the leather-bound hilt. The sword was heavy and foreign. More an heirloom than a weapon, no care had been given to it for as long as I had eyes to notice such things. Rather it lived perched above our mantle, never polished or sharpened, touched or spoken of; just a constant reminder of darker times when such instruments were carried by all to protect our lands. I’d never wielded one before. Few in our village had. But I had to try.

A pull of the crank and the platform would lower into the pit. But to return from the depths required men to work the wheel. How deep it went I knew not, but if strong Nygail couldn’t hoist the platform up without the relief of six other men, then deep it surely was.

As I scaled the steps of the platform, I gave my love one last look. If I succeeded in slaying the beast, then in two days’ time Elder Marhkarian would have quite the surprise riding up to greet him. If not, then the disappearance of Tybier and Nygail would become just another mystery for our people to ponder through the ages.

I grabbed a torch and said to her, “If I must, I give my life for yours,” then hit the lever and began my descent.

High above, a bright winter moon filled the mouth of the pit; the last revenant of a world left behind. The deeper I delved, the more it shrunk until all that remained was a flickering star. Even the clunking of the wheel faded, leaving nothing to fill my head but the sound of my own labored breaths, ever quickened by the gripping terror of what waited below.

I resigned my attention to the walls, for below was nothing but a black so pure it swallowed the light of my torch. In that ocher light, the smooth, moist stone glistened, and the deeper I went, the more it perspired. Deeper still, and syrupy rivulets ran from tiny fissures all over the walls.

“They’re bleeding…” I heard myself murmur. Hearing my voice gave me a start, for the strange harmonics of this place had it sounding not my own.

Just your mind playing tricks.

Something whispered back, “Playing tricks.”

A chill grabbed me. Did I say that? Deathly cold, I began to shake. I held the flame close for warmth, but it did no good. And then the smell assaulted me—much more pungent than before—a miasma of spilt blood and rot. It stung my nostrils and exacerbated the roiling in my guts.

This was a mistake. There’s no turning back. “This was a mistake!” I heard myself shout. My eyes shot skyward, back toward home, toward Allic, but no light from the moon pierced the stolid black of the pit, not anymore. It was as if the world had fled along with my courage.

“Stay strong, Tybier. You have to stay strong. For Allic!” Hearing her name refocused me, but it wasn't long to last. Soon the walls of the pit spilled away and vanished, and with that last vestige of the world gone, my fear bloomed into sweat-drenched terror.

Down, down, down I went, sinking ever deeper into an ebon sea. Blood roared in my ears and my skin crawled with spiders. The air—fetid and foul—tickled my lungs and brought my bowels up into my throat. “This was a mistake!” Tears streamed down my face. “A horrible mistake! Why did you do this? You’re going to die! I don’t want to die!”

On top of my cries, the lift abruptly stalled and I fell to my knees. Humbled upon the altar, I stayed for what felt an eternity just listening for signs of what dwelled in the darkness beyond. My heart leapt and skipped and sputtered so fiercely I feared I might faint, so I shut my eyes and thought of the one thing that gave me courage—my betrothed.

Eventually the pounding eased and a tepid calm washed over me. When I opened my eyes, I noticed the stone for which the altar had come to rest. Not smooth like the walls of the pit, rather scabrous like that of a natural cave. With a deep breath, I took my first step into the unknown.

Where is Nygail’s body? I pinched my nose at the overwhelming smell of ordure and blood. Death was close, but there was no sign of the sentinel. In dizzying circles I searched. My eyes fell upon fresh clarets that shinned in the torchlight. Gobbets of ichor were strewn about, but there was no body, just a shimmering crimson trail that disappeared into the gloom. Any doubt as to whether some malevolent creature lurked below eroded, and with such realization the chill worsened and my shakes built upon themselves until my body was in full convulsion.

Perhaps a wolves den? I tried to tell myself. But wolves don’t carry away their kills, especially kills the size of a sentinel. His sword was gone too. Something much larger carried off the body.

A wave of the torch did nothing to burn away the gathering gloom. “There’s no turning back,” I reminded myself. “Only forward.” I hadn’t a notion which way to head, as all were equally benighted, so I followed the trail of blood.

All around me the darkness crowded, playing tricks on my eyes. Sprites popped in my periphery and spectral forms harried through the blackness. I clenched at my chest and rubbed my shoulders for warmth. Whether due to the humid air or my own panic, a lake a sweat filled every fold.

What do I do? What do I do? You’re an idiot, Tybier! Why did you come down here? You’re going to die! You’re going to die down here!

I had forgotten my purpose. Fear, perhaps the one emotion capable of cowing the mind as thoroughly as love, had drowned it in a sea of panic. A battle raged inside me, but eventually my heart prevailed. “Allic… What lies below…”

My sword hung heavy in my hand. A part of me had always doubted the beast’s existence, but now, here in this place of nightmares, that part of me faltered. I came to slay it, so let’s get on with it! I tried to feign bravery. “Show yourself! You cannot have her! Face me, foul thing!”

And I waited. Blind and scared I waited. Waited for its terrible reply.

Over my shoulder, far away, came an impossible sound. “Who’s there?” I shouted into the dark. “Is somebody down here?” It came again. “That can’t be. That…” A baby’s cry, distant and manic. It continued for a good minute then abruptly stopped. Then came the sound of rocks tinkling down into a pool of water. I spun on my heels, sword waving wildly, and studied the black palate before me. There was nothing, just a silence so pure my ears rang.

Through the blackness, with the foul air assaulting, I sidled towards the noise I’d heard and soon came upon a stone passage. A wave of the torch did little to light the way, so I took it slow, all the while my sword out in front and the foible quivering from the incessant shake in my hands. Again came the cry. I upped pace. If I was going to die down in this ghastly place, let it be soon rather than face another minute in such an unknowing, purblind hell.

As I rounded a corner, far in the distance I spied a nimbus of light. The walls of the passage parted and opened into a prodigious cavern. As I quested toward the light, my progress was stopped at the shore of an underground lake. Somewhere far off, I heard running water.

Mindful of my steps, I moved along the water’s edge toward the light that cut a yellow sliver across its stagnant surface. A bonfire, I soon realized, and quite a large one by the looks of it.

“Have you come to slay us?” came a voice from out the darkness.

My heart leapt in my chest and I spun in dizzying circles, tripped over a rock, and nearly fell into the lake. I caught myself with the tip of my sword, which thusly broke off.

Effeminate and soft, the voice asked, “Or do you plan to use that as a walking stick?”

Another woman’s voice said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

And another’s, “Why have you come?”

“Where are you? Show yourself!” I said.

Through the ebon veil, scores of women materialized. They wore little beyond tattered rags and matted furs, and their skin was the color of milk. Goose pimples popped from my flesh and ice water filled my veins. To think, just days prior to see a women in the flesh excited me so, but here—in this foul place—their form birthed a dread so primal a wet warmth ran down my leg.

“Look. He’s soiled himself.” A chorus of titters followed.

“I mean you no harm,” was all I could muster in such a stupefied state.

From behind me, “Yet you carry a blade.”

I spun to find a small, pale-faced girl in a disheveled, white gown standing but arm’s length from me. She had sticks braided into her hair and opaque eyes that gleamed in the torchlight.

“Yes. I, I came to confront what…” I swallowed hard, “what, what—”

“Lies below,” finished another. She was much older, and her hair had all but fallen out along with most of her teeth. Her eyes were milky quartz and her flesh looked wrapped in snow. She moved like I’d seen blind men move.

“Who are you people?”

“You don’t know?” came another voice, one I somehow recognized. In my state of agitation it took me a moment to place it, and when finally I managed, I was awestruck.

“Jula? Jula is that you?”

From out of the darkness she came, still garbed in the holy vestment she’d descended in, minus a sleeve that looked to have been torn off.

“You’re alive! But, but…” Only a blood soaked tatter had returned from the pit.

“You’re, you’re the offerings! You’re alive? You’re alive and…and living down here.”

The slattern old woman staggered toward me and placed a hand on my cheek. She looked right through me, and in soft tones said, “It’s been so long since I felt the face of a man so young.” Her wizened fingers perused my sweet-drenched brow, nose, and lips. “Beastly, this one. Pock-faced, rather plump too,” she added, running her hands down my chest and poking at my belly.

I took a step back. “How can this be? Where is the beast?” Empty stares abounded. “Is it, is it just fable then? But why? Why don’t you come back to us? Why don’t you put this terrible myth to rest and return home?”

Jula put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Here, in this place, we are free.”

“But, Jula, you’re father, and—”

Another woman came forward, of middling age, naked and hale. Her brown hair ran in ringlets down to her buttocks. “Her father? The man who shed not a tear for his daughter? The man who did nothing to stop her descent? Down here, we live unshrouded. We are free! Down here, we live without fear, masters of our own destinies!” A tumult of voices boomed from the darkness—hundreds, maybe more—all venerating her words.

I raised up my sword in both hands, then felt cold steel kiss my throat.

“That isn’t wise, my lord.”

My sword clanked down onto the hard stone and my hands rose up in surrender. “I, I do not wish to rule you. I am not like the others. I, I came to stop this, to end the offerings for good. Do you not want to live where the sun shines, where the birds sing? Do you not want to leave this place of darkness and decay?”

The steel left my throat. Over my shoulder I saw nothing but darkness.

“Down here, no man rules us. Not by lash, nor by sword, nor by pain of death. Here, we are queens of the world.” She pulled a bone knife from her sash and lent me a wicked smile.

Jula said, “We have water. And mushrooms grow here. There is meat down here too; fish and rodents and bats and…other things.” Her voice was so demure I couldn’t tell if she truly believed what she was saying.

“Rodents and bats? Jula—”

The woman with the knife brought her lips in close enough for a kiss. “Do you think should the truth be known we would be any less than the thralls we were? Do you think the manacles we bore would suddenly be cut, that our shrouds would be burned and we would live as equals? Men and their dark desires… Yet we pay for your sins! We wear the shroud! We call you lord! We guard our tongues or face the lash!” She turned and showed me her back. A litany of scars crisscrossed every inch. “But we suffer you no more. This,” she showed me her palm. A long scar split it, “is the last scar you will ever give us.”

Almost in salute, everyone raised up their hands to display matching scars.

“Tis better to live in squalor than to live in chains,” I said to her. “I understand. I do. Truly. Let me return to the surface and end this oppression. And when I have, I will send for you. You can live again amongst the trees and fronds. You can feel the sun on your faces!”

Laughter rang out and echoed off the unseen walls, building on itself until my ears rang. “You will send for us, will you? You will save us?” More laughter. “This is our kingdom. This is our home. Send us more of your women instead. Send them all!” Nearby, a baby cried. “Your gift of death only makes us stronger, for now we are legion. Soon we will take back the world above! It will not be a gift given by one such as you! And when we do, your kind will feel the lash; thralls to your betters until the ending of the ages!”

“Jula, tell her! Tell her I’m not like the others. Tell her I have a good heart!”

Jula downcast her eyes and stepped aside as another woman approached. She wore nothing but a fur codpiece and held a newborn to her breast. Golden hair, unshorn and long draped her shoulders. Her eyes reminded me of my mother’s.

She moved uncomfortably close, and in the firelight her dull brown eyes came alive. “I just wanted to see your face one more time, while I still had eyes to see.” She caressed my cheek then without another word, turned and disappeared into the black from whence she came.

“Sister?” The word was nettles in my mouth. “Is that you? Is that—”

“No one here will protect you,” said the raven-haired woman. “No one here will believe your lies.”

“Sister! Please! Tell her! Tell her I need to return to the surface! I can make it better! I can make it better!”

Jula and all the rest slinked back into the darkness out of sight, leaving me alone with the woman and her knife.

“Please, I can help you! Return me to the surface so I can help you!”

She juggled the knife between her fingers and seemed to ponder my words. “But of course you will return to the surface.”

“Truly? I promise I will stop this. I will…” Her twisted smile gave me pause.

“You will help us, yes you will. But why would we want to stop this? Like every blood-soaked tatter, your return will only serve to strength us.”

“But…but I will return?”

“Yes, Tybier, you’ll return. Well, a part of you will return.”

“A…a part of me?”

“Please!” I fell to my knees. “Please no! I’m betrothed! My love is next to face the descent! I came to save her!”

“Your love? You love her, do you?”

“Yes! Oh yes! More than anything in the world!”

“And you think your love is requited?”

“Of course!”

“Then you’re even more of a fool than I thought.”

“Why do you say such things?” Anger rather than fear filled me. “She loves me!”

Her chalky eyes sparkled in the light. There was a sick pleasure behind them. “She doesn’t love you, Tybier, she fears you. Just as we all feared your kind. But not to worry. Soon she will join us. Soon her fears will be washed away, and your betrothed…she’ll become part of the beast men fear.”