La Bedelia Commedia

PURGATORY

>Amelia had been Anon’s maid for some months now, and he was getting close to firing her
>Her incessant misunderstandings made him… *angry*, angrier than he’d ever been with someone
>What made him angrier was how infatuated he’d become with her because of them, caught in some frightful spell where he couldn’t summon the will or voice to reprimand her
>A pit built in his stomach that morning, finally writing out a check to pay out the rest of her term
>He wanted her gone, then and there
>The last thing he asked her to do was dust the kitchen and, stepping in, she certainly did
>His feet disturbed the inch-thick layer of fine dust, a swirling cloud rising from the ground and burning his nose
>Itching at his sinuses it plumbed deeper, soaking up every bit of moisture inside and yanking his head back, aching
>Released in a momentous sneeze toward the coated counter he only fogged the air further, the sun misting through the suspended bits of household dust
>”Amelia,” he screamed between horrific sneezes, nose bloodying
>”Yes, sir?”
>”Get out, for Christ’s sake, out!”
>She recoiled, trying to apologize
>”Sir, I-”
>”Dammit to Hell, Amelia-”
>”Sir,” she stopped, serious. “Are you sure?”
>A trail of blood licked down his lip, the arid air stinging the man’s skull deeper
>”Sure about what, huh? Fine! Just- Just go!”
>Hands thrown up in anger at her, the world stilled around him for an instant
>In that brief moment he pondered his choice of words as an inky black void crept at his periphery, a sneaking, stygian hand shrouding the man’s eyes and squeezing his chest free of air
>Amelia looked on in somber regret, bemoaning his choice of words
>She didn’t want to do this, not yet- but if he figured she was ready then by all means she’d comply

>He awoke in a damp cave, the slimy limestone beneath him gently eroding out as more calcitic solution dripped and coated his face in a thick, carbonate snot
>Wiping the precipitating ooze from his face he rolled over, scrabbling up on all fours in the abject darkness
>Staring ahead in the chamber a simmering orange light hopped and flickered, intermittent gusts of hot air washing his face as it peaked
>His first breath in this new world was hellish, assaulted by the stench of brimstone and boiling rock
>Nose scalded by the heat he pulled his shirt up to lessen the impact, the fetid smell of rotting eggs piercing through and assaulting his senses
>Upright at last and hobbling down the dim passageway he followed that shimmering light, eyes blinking as it grew and expanded before him
>Exiting the cave mouth he found himself in a towering, volcanic chamber
>A pit of magma leaped and jumped beyond the narrow walkway he was perched upon, hellish squawks and grunts echoing around the noisy chamber
>Bits of black, igneous rock perched atop walkways higher up rolled and crashed into the lake, spits of magma flying up and sending droplets of slag to cool and spit at his feet
>The whole scene conjured Hell in his head, the flaying heat forcing him to disrobe to his briefs as rivers of sweat stung his eyes
>He had to get out of here, to retreat to that cool cave and find some other way out than the burning pit staring back
>Creeping back, slinging his damp t-shirt back on, he backtracked to the dim cave where he woke up
>Worming his lips around anxiously he noticed the dry trail of nose-blood from the kitchen- clearly he hadn’t been gone too long
>Crouching down in the dark his eyes dilated again, sweeping around the cold space for some alternate route
>Eyes catching on a dimmer, icy glow in the opposite end of the cavern he scampered over, hair pricking up across his body and sweat freezing into stinging beads on his brow
>The tiny hole peered into a broad, blue ice sheet
>Black figures were frozen in the frothing slush, plunging deeper in the thin water and locked in as the tides of cold trapped them in ice
>He stuck his head deeper through the peephole in abject terror, hands locked on the cave wall as the precipice beckoned him in
>With a crack of the rock wall he tumbled forward and down, falling miles towards the frigid tomb waiting for him, the water beneath melting a spot just for him

>The little maid rocked herself back and forth on the wet, gravelly beach
>Great hunks of mountain rock, washed and broken on their weathered descent, poked her behind where she sat
>She’d warned Anon when he asked, and yet he continued
>However by her own mistake Anon had been cast into the pit of Hell for a sin unknown to even her, and she’d failed to even penetrate the first ring
>Instead she was abandoned, soaked and alone, on the rocky beach where she woke up
>A black, towering mountain loomed overhead, the circling squawk of seabirds pecking at her ears as she pulled herself up
>Dusting off the odd bit of black sand or clinging pebble she marched off along the beach
>Wobbling left and right in her flats she started calling out aimlessly in hopes she wasn’t alone on the desolate isle, praying for some kind of rescue
>”HEY,” a voice yelled, “Keep it down why don’t you!”
>Jumping Amelia turned another craggy, basalt corner to the broad, black sand beach panning out before her
>”Heavens…,” she whispered, the march of a thousand or more shimmering figures, like oil on water, soundlessly winding up the mountainside in front of her widening eyes
>Turning to the voice she pointed nervously at herself
>”Yeah you! Get over here.”
>A grim, sharp-nosed shade scowled at her, a red cap and crown of laurel clinging to his head in the squalls of sea air
>”How did you get here?”
>”I’m sorry, I don’t understand-”
>”Here, allow me.” He clapped a hand on her solid shoulder, swiping it through himself after. “See? Hot air.”
>”Well I don’t think you’re stupid, sir, but-”
>”HOW DA- nevermind, nevermind,” he calmed himself. “Issue is you’re alive, and here. No guide though, *that’s* a big problem.”
>”I’m supposed to have a guide? I- I don’t even know where I am, I just-”
>”That’s not important right now and, frankly, you’re not gonna get much outta me. I know a guy though, could probably help you home.”
>Home
>But, Anon was nowhere to be seen around, vacant from the beach and certainly not among the crowd hiking up the mountain
>”I don’t need to go home, I need to get Anon back!”
>”Anon…” He traced his mind back for that name, remembering a fumbling, unconscious figure being thrown into the volcanic rift beyond the island’s shore. “*That* guy?”
>”I… suppose?”
>”Oh yeah, he’s *gone* gone, all the way down. Probably face up and freezing his tears off right now.”
>”What,” she shrieked, doubling over. “No, no, not Anon! He didn’t do anything!”
>”Well from my *limited* understanding of things, miss,” he began, the thick Italian tilt in his voice catching her attention. “He’s probably the first living man tossed down there- did he do anything suspect?”
>”Well he yelled at me to ‘dammit all to Hell’,” she mumbled, shivering at the curse, “and I dusted the kitchen as asked! Though that just made him mad too...”
>”Yeah, yep, that’ll do it- cursing a guest is pretty blatant treachery, shame to hear it.”
>”Treachery, no sir! You don’t-”
>”Understand? Yeah, Big Guy doesn’t care much,” the Pilgrim sniffed, “he takes it pretty seriously. Bottom line is if you want him back, you gotta go back down.”
>”Can you take me? Please?!”
>He grumbled
>Plenty of other passersby had asked him and, no, he didn’t plan on it
>”Yeah, that’s where my guy comes in. Listen carefully,” he continued, pointing up the towering rock face. “You scale that cliff, and a lady there can take you back down to where you need to go. Look for a guy like me minus the red hat.”
>”Well it looks about… thirty yards up?”
>”Wh-What’s a yard?”
>”I scaled the-”
>”Mm, I see. Okay, *climb up* the cliff, and ask the lady to take you to Limbo.”
>”Sir, I’m not terribly flexible, I don’t know-”
>He pinched the bridge of his nose, pointing
>”Just… go. Please?”
>”Yes, sir…”

>Turning to the brutal, black cliff-face she rolled up her sleeves, the odd trickle of water running down the slippery rock and splashing at her feet
>Staring up the sheer wall she slipped her flats off, leggings and shoes stuffed in her front pocket as she took an outcrop in hand
>Pulling herself up she began the ascent, crumbles of basalt tumbling past the precipice, clattering against the ground beneath
>The sharp stone stabbed at her feet, lashing waves of sea water flung from the ocean at her as the maid continued her inexorable ascent
>Edging higher a foot slipped on the wet rock face, wiggling around for purchase as its owner swung sideways in a gust of wind
>Dangling by a hand she scrambled around for a handhold, legs swinging out to the sides of a narrow cut in the bluff
>Sliding in, pressing her muddied knees to the wall, she rested a moment
>The half dozen yards left would be slow going, legs up followed by arms as she weaseled up the crack to its narrow opening
>Dragging herself up the last few inches over the edge she rolled, panting and soaked, onto the barren, pebbly ground
>”Ma’am,” a voice sighed, a sandaled foot toeing her side. “*Ma’am*?”
>Grumbling Amelia opened her stinging eyes, face to face with the fair haired lady stooping over her
>”Are you who I’m supposed to talk to,” she breathed, chest pounding from the climb
>”Depends,” the lady smiled, hefting Amelia up to her wobbling, bare feet. “Where are you trying to go?”
>”Well, the man down there,” she gestured far down the dripping cliff face, “told me to go to Limbo, but I-”
>”Ah! Fear not, little one.”
>The towering, shimmering woman lowered her head to Amelia’s, pointing far out to the distant, smouldering horizon
>Roiling, beating waves broke and festered off the island’s chaotic shore, beating open as the simmered and split
>”Is that-”
>”Yes, and I can take you there.”
>”Please do!”
>”Turn around for me and, well,” the angel continued, chuckling, “no hard feelings!”
>With a stiff kick to the behind Amelia rocketed up and away into the air, flailing in terror as she plunged down towards the opening fold in the sea
>Twisting in freefall her apron spilled its contents out, shoes and socks floating uselessly away and drifting to the choppy ocean surface
>Falling through the breaking waters she dove deeper into the sickening, cold wet
>Plummeting further and further down, falling without end, she shut her eyes and waited for the ground to embrace her on impact

>The grumbling boatman watched the hurtling feminine figure soar over his riverine domain, cursing the tourists who tried (and often succeeded) to slip through his hands
>Muttering he reminded himself to start charging more to make up for the ‘shoplifters’ who’d tumble overhead and across the Acheron
>The one he just watched, unconsciously spinning in the air, was likely a mortal booted in for some righteous rescue mission, or maybe another of those pompous poets with ‘divine permission’
>”No use complaining,” he said aloud, spitting into the sickeningly black river. “ALL ABOARD!”
>His hoarse voice called the shivering, cloistered shades onto his little ship of suffering, setting across the tarred waters and into Hell

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CIRCLE ONE - LIMBO

>Shouting awake in the roaring, chilly air Amelia clutched at her head and held her bonnet close, hurriedly pushing her skirt down as she neared the ground
>Bracing for impact she rolled and bounced on the grassy fields surrounding her, frigid autumnal winds brushing past her flushing cheeks as she slowed to a stop
>Lying there, the breeze ruffling her delicate hair, Amelia shuddered in the just-cold air
>Propping herself up on her muddy knees she took in the crisp atmosphere, damp and shivering but thankfully alive
>On all sides she was surrounded by a dull field, grey grass shimmering limply in the wind, frigid little trees clinging to their colorless leaves in the first circle
>Flung over that infamous gate Amelia was still holding onto hope, brushing off the little ashen strands of grass from her messy skirt
>Devoid of God’s light but not near the mottled, sucking darkness that lie deeper beyond the outermost circle, Amelia’s eyes fought to see through the dappled gray light shaking through the treetops
>Off in the misty distance a towering castle stood atop an eroding, lime cliff
>Odd figures tottered around on its walls, bedecked in togas and robes and all matter of clothing, a few donning more *modern* dress beside their companions
>Still others wandered outside its exterior, soaking in what muffled light they could absorb and sun in in the broad fields of Limbo
>Rubbing her eyes at the monochrome spectacle before her Amelia took a breath in the lukewarm air- fresh but dull, stagnant save for the little stirs that curled her hair
>She ruffled a hand in her apron pocket, the thing empty of her belongings
>Sighing she started the long march towards the looming fortress beyond, the ankle-high grass thickening and brushing past her naked legs as she waded out into the mist

>Wading through the broad field, grass finally thinning to a fine lawn at the base of the castle, Amelia stopped at its main gate
>A peeping little sentry peered over, the cheekplates of his galea tapping at his head
>The shuffling, metal segments of his lorica sang down the stone wall as he called to Amelia, head shooting up
>”Et viator es,” he shouted down
>”Ooh, a tour? Yes,” she smiled, waving at the guard
>He sighed, rolling his eyes
>Wagging a hand at one of the others standing along the walls the legionnaire retreated, replaced by a more modern soldier
>His deep-red uniform stunned Amelia’s greyed eyes, the clatter of his canteen and pack refreshing, like a busy kitchen
>Leaning over the dense walls, slipping his shako back lest it fall, he hollered at the maid
>”Oi!”
>”Oh, hello!”
>”What’s yer business?”
>Amelia grabbed her chin, deep in thought- she didn’t *own* a business
>Self-employed was a better description, though it never helped to be nitpicky
>”I’m a maid, sir!”
>He cocked a head down the wall, his Roman companion shrugging
>”Then wot the ‘ell are you doing here?”
>”Ohhh! I’m here to go to Hell! Personal affairs,” she mumbled, twiddling her thumbs
>The fusilier squinted, slinging his musket over his shoulder to lean further over the parapet
>Eyes fighting through the fog he saw her black outline and smiling, simple face
>Certainly not a shade- too solid, too *happy* even in her state
>He turned to his partner, the man shrugging again
>Human visitors to Limbo were rare, sure, but seldom caused ‘things’
>Looking back at the ragged lady, shoeless and messy-headed, the two figured she’d already been through too much trouble to start any of her own
>Waving her in through the opening portcullis the guards escorted the quiet maid past familiar faces
>Persian emperors shared wine with the same Greek aristocrats and rulers who defeated them, counter-culture types conversing with honored gurus and past lamas
>Amelia couldn’t help but shrink at the shock of it, history class characters giving her a sidelong glance or the odd whisper
>She blushed at the renewed attention, forcing her muddy dress and skirt straight for fear of attracting any more negative looks
>Marched into a broad, seemingly more sunny, courtyard Amelia took stock of the surroundings
>Gentle, ashen trees swayed in the imperceptible breeze, splashes of color plucked from their branches by some of the wandering shades seeking rest (and a snack) beneath them
>In a small circle of shades sitting beneath the taller of the apple trees was a robed man, his regal toga swaddling him beneath a crown of laurel
>He waved a cigarette around philosophically, one of the more recent comforts newer shades had brought along
>His head peeked up, peering through his little group of confidants to the messy maid spat into the courtyard
>Her dense, colorfully muddied form caught his eyes, an uncommon occurrence all the way down in his humble abode in Hell
>Not wholly unfamiliar though, eyes widening in pleasant surprise
>It had been some centuries since a living soul had come all this way, though he feared the truth he’d have to spin her as she ambled around the colorless lawn
>Apologizing to his group he stood up, straightening his wreath and brushing his toga down
>Marching over to her he bowed slightly, trying to shoo the jaded sleepiness from his face
>”Ave,” he smiled, meeting her eyes. “Quod nomen tibi est?”
>Amelia’s face contorted in confusion, trying to make sense of his question
>”A way,” she started. “A way where? And ‘*four* gnome-men, the best’, sir? Four can’t *all* be the best…”
>The little joy drained from the man’s face- he was getting visited by another *Anglicus*, their harsh, germanic tongue less than pleasing to his ears
>It was a hard lesson learning his language had been dead for a millenia and a half topside
>”What name is yours,” he snipped in his thick accent, “why have you come to Limbo?”
>”I’m not here to limbo, this is serious!”
>The man rolled his eyes, shutting them tightly and pressing at his temples
>He puffed his cigarette back up, afraid it had died in a little gust of wind
>”Oh-kay,” he started again. “I am called *Publius Vergilius Maro*, the great poet. Who are you?”
>”...Amelia Bedelia. I’m here to get Anon back. But today, not… ‘morrow’.”
>”O-Okay, that’s good enough.” His eyes blinked at their small progress. “You are in the first circle of HELL, called LIMBO,” he enunciated
>Amelia nodded lightly, not understanding at all
>”Good? Good. Your ‘Anon’ is probably deeper in Hell-”
>”Then let’s go get him!”
>”...That’s where our problem is. We can’t leave here safely. Out there,” he gestured, to the torturous wastes beyond, “is *Hell*. Hell *proper*.”
>”I’m sorry, sir, I don’t follow…”
>He took a long drag, letting it join the cooling gray air as he exhaled
>”Hell used to be a nice place to take pilgrims through, teach them something,” he mourned, wistful eyes breaking from hers, “but now it’s not. You’d have to *fight* your way through to your ‘Anon’, and even then *I* wouldn’t want to go.”
>”But-”
>”No buts. Just… just go home, kid.”
>Turning around he nodded to his circle, a trickle of smoke following him backwards as the cigarette burnt to an end
>”No! No,” Amelia whimpered
>Virgil groaned, turning around
>”No *what*? I’m busy.”
>”There’s no home to go back to,” she cried, bunching her fists at her side. “Without him… without *Anon*… What’s home without someone you… you lo-” She caught herself, clipping the sentence short in her throat. “*Care about*.”
>Her voice trailed away, small and weak and smothered in the stirring air
>”Some confession,” Virgil snorted. “...Maybe, maybe. Yeah, you could do it.”
>A little smirk returned to his face, the pleasant recognition of potential in a pilgrim warming his long-dead heart, a chance at something greater stirring it further
>Had he ever really had one worth it?
>He wasn’t entirely sure, really, but she seemed up to it, far more than that fainting ninny some centuries back
>”Come with me.”
>Amelia picked her head up and went after the man, following him deep into the dark annals of the fortress

>Pulling her after him he turned into one of the fire-lit chambers, icy blue chandeliers casting cobalt shadows across their surroundings
>Virgil put a finger to his mouth, emphatically leaving Amelia at the entrance to the chamber
>The poet crept forward to a shrouded bedside, gently whispering with its slumbering occupant
>Amelia winced at their words, jumping behind the threshold and around the corner, panting and scared
>”Seize her,” she made out, “I need the blade.”
>Peering back around the corner she saw the two silhouettes behind the gossamer sheet
>A sickening squirt of flesh and blood crept through the air as the poet ripped a short sword from the other’s chest
>It did not drip nor did the man cry out, simply waving his hand to dispense of the poet
>”Amelia,” he whispered, popping back into the hallway, “Amelia?”
>The frightened maid had crumpled into the corner, hands raised in meek defense
>”Here.”
>She slowly tipped her head up, the stern Roman offering her a trim, ornate gladius
>The blade was coated in the old dictator’s blood, the tipped flow of crimson ichor collecting in a drop at its point
>It sat, bouncing there, but refused to fall to the ground
>”Go on, take it.”
>Amelia put a shaky hand out, grasping the handle firmly
>A shiver ran up her arm, the uncoagulating rivulets of blood pooling around the blade’s iron surface still refusing to dry or run down past the hilt
>”...Th-Thank you?”
>”You’ll need a weapon like this out there,” he sniffed, “where I dare not go anymore.”
>”Now what, sir?”
>”You go out and you fight. You fight your way as deep as you need to, get your… person, and leave.”
>The maid weighed the simple sword in her hand, watching the oily slosh of aortic blood run up and down its length
>”Okay… okay,” she nodded firmly, standing up. “Where to now?”
>”The opposite direction you came in. Walk *away* from the river you crossed.”
>Amelia fumbled in her head, briefly remembering the choppy black waters she’d soared over
>Shaking any misunderstanding from her mind she thanked the guide for his time, breathing deep as she was about to set out
>”Wait, one last thing!” Virgil hopped from one foot to the other, slipping his sandals off. “Here, please- it gets… jagged, the further you go.”
>”I- thank you, sir.”
>”I’ll escort you out.”
>Guiding Amelia through the mazing castle and out to the windy fields outside he pointed her straight to the sheer cliff downwards into the second circle
>”Well, this is goodbye…”
>”I suppose it is, Amelia.” Virgil sniffed the air, the distant, lustful tug at his nose pushing it up into a grimace. “Best of luck, little maid.”
>”Thank you for your help, Mister Maro.” She smiled weakly, turning to the retreating poet. “I hope to see you again!”
>”You as well, Amelia. I hope you find your Anon.”
>Virgil marched away through the gray grass back to his home, hand itching for once in anticipation not of another cigarette, but of a living visitor’s success
>He wished the red-haired Eurydice the best, praying for her Orpheus’ soul as he watched her hop down the lip of the cliff
>Amelia turned her head to the red, jagged slope beyond leading to the second circle
>Distant winds stirred her hair, ruddy locks fussing in and out of her eyes as she peered into the stormy distance
>Straightening her bonnet she pierced the sword through her dress, the makeshift scabbard failing to wipe the blood away
>With one last deep breath she started the slow descent towards the second circle, the ring of Hell where nothing gleamed

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CIRCLE TWO - LUST

>Amelia leaned backwards into the rusty soil, the sharp slope carrying her the rest of the way
>Crumbling bits of oxidized rock and churning peat tumbled with her as her feet planted on another ledge, sidling over to the next to slip down where she could
>The ground beneath her was infernal, stinking and rotten with decay
>The sky, too, grew clear and dark, hardly red- like blood deprived of oxygen
>Amelia planted her feet firmly on each outcrop, flipping around to face the fetid cliff in front of her, hands nabbing what little rocky support was there as she began her perilous descent
>It wasn’t much further, she guessed, the odd eruption of fire enough to gauge the distance by
>Where the sword caught and dragged along the cliff face it traced a small canal of flame after it, the holy (by Hell’s standards) weapon purifying the sinful soil beneath its point
>Amelia ignored the tiny trail of fire following her hip as she plumbed lower, hobnailed sandals finding purchase on the odd rest for her feet and hands
>It too seared the evil rock where she stood, the good poets’ shoes a touch purer than the ground beneath them- perks of having a memento of the higher undead
>With a deep, nervous breath Amelia hopped off the wall of crumbling soil, tumbling and rolling backwards as she fell into the slipstream
>The winds above hadn’t bothered her, a touch here and there tugging at her bonnet, one anomalous gust ripping one of the little decorative flowers away, but nothing like this
>She was rolling aimlessly in the beating, driving gales
>She kicked her feet hard into the scoured, smooth rock beneath, above and around her as she was blown about the circumference of the circle
>”HEY,” a womanly voice called to her, “HEY!”
>The cry was drowned in the hellish sand blaster whirling Amelia up and into the air a hop at a time, the whirling cascade of air rocketing her around
>Her frantic mind jumped to the sword wiggling at her hip, a desperate hand snatching it by its ivory handle
>Bumbling around, sword in hand now, Amelia tried for ideas, the sword’s tip chipping the ground barely in its chaotic rocking
>The maid’s eyes shot wide, shutting hard in the stinging wind, as she plunged the sword towards ‘down’, praying for purchase in the rock
>Like a hot knife through butter it opened a hellish laceration in the erupting rock, singed stone burning her nose on top of the blasting winds
>Pulling her bonnet over her head she shielded her eyes from the worst of the blasting winds, ears straining for anything other than the hellish rush of air around her
>And there it was, a barely audible scream through the roaring cauldron of wind surrounding Amelia
>She could just pinpoint its direction, sword plunged into the heart of the second circle’s sand-lashed bedrock
>The panting maid planned her arduous march towards the voice, ignoring the other odd shade tumbling past or, sickeningly, through her
>The blade was stabbed in the rock ahead of her, Amelia’s eyes opening again to see the wound cleaved into the ground
>She scooched her foot, inch by inch, towards the hold where the sandal’s toe barely slipped in
>Taking purchase she made a stride forward against the windstorm, bracing herself on her back leg as she gently withdrew the sword again
>Nearly losing all balance she stabbed it ahead of her, leveraging a hole for her right foot now
>Repeating the motion she marched back around the harsh circle, shades tumbling past and around as she angled back towards the cliff wall’s edge
>A slumped slide of rock and debris lay there in one of the idle calm patches, much of the boulders hastily arranged into a small wall
>The earthquake that had rocked the place had done some good one could muse, Amelia leaping forward towards the refuge behind the wall of debris

>Panting she turned to a young, dirty face, nearly jumping back into the blasting winds to be carried away
>Shouting in surprise the woman calmed her down, shushing her loudly
>Breathing Amelia met the lady’s beady, dull eyes
>No light caught in their sorrowful surface, no dimple or shine of the dim red glow around them reflected towards Amelia
>”Phew, thank you,” Amelia chuckled, huddling beneath the precarious stack of rocks
>The quizzical pair of eyes blinked at her, trying to track the language, pin it and understand it
>Hell was not an easy place to be understood, Amelia was gathering
>”Amelia Bedelia,” she stuck a hand out, smiling. “I am Amelia Bedelia, from the surface.”
>”Ohh,” the woman nodded, taking the hand. “Sorry, yes, had to make sure what you were speaking…”
>”English! English, miss.”
>”Yes, we get a lot of those down here now.”
>”And now I’m here too!”
>”Yes, but,” the woman peeped, on the verge of tears in her unshining eyes, “but *you* are alive!”
>She clapped her hands on either of Amelia’s shoulders for effect, the wind having blasted her dry and free of mud
>A little cloud of dust shook from her dress but besides that she was better, much better
>”Yes, I am alive… And?”
>Amelia was growing wary, the trip down the cliff already taking her into the realm of sinners proper
>”You can take me up! I mean, I’m so close-”
>”But I’m not going up! I’m going down, I- Who do you think you are?”
>The woman pulled back, reaching towards her hip
>She huffed, indignant at the disrespect from this lowly, dirty maid
>”Dido, wife of Pygmalion and Queen of Carthage. And you, Amelia, who are *you*? Hm?”
>”A maid on a mission, and certainly not the wife of a pig mailma- OW!”
>The Phoenician Queen struck Amelia hard across the face, a stinging red mark on her cheek joining the scratchy traces from the blasting winds
>”I want you out of my- my *hole*, *now*! I don’t need any living person to help me out of here anyways…”
>The woman dropped a hand to her braided belt, the remnants of that prophetic oxskin stripped and weaved into it and, menacing Amelia from her hands, a whip
>She cracked it next to Amelia, a paff of red soil blasted up and into the jetstream roaring above them
>”Hey! I’ll not stand for this,” Amelia shouted, standing
>She drew her blade, standing tall as the top of her head shot above their makeshift parapet, the roaring wind catching her bonnet and ripping it away
>Ducking she swung her sword out and to the ground, the sputtering blade fusing the red sands at her feet into a hellish, coagulating obsidian
>The queen shrieked in horror, recoiling at the sputtering mess of molten glass forming beneath the blade, Amelia stooping back down to rip it away from the ground
>”You… You came prepared,” she mumbled, hands wrinkling in fear and apprehension. “Please, please don’t hurt me!”
>”I’m not here to hurt anyone! Why do you think I’m trying to hurt you, I just want… want Anon back…”
>The maid ran a shivering hand through her whipped hair, bonnet torn off and tossed into the mach-speed winds above her
>Not even a pitiful petal was left of the flowered decorations on it, little yellow blossoms scattered and blasted away in the storm above them
>Amelia slumped down too, slinging the fizzing blade to the ground as she hugged her knees
>The shade watched on in apprehension, the temptation to nab the sword from its bubbling surroundings enormous
>Turning her head to the little maid she saw her shake, head shoved into the worn hem of her skirt
>Little cries wracked Amelia’s body, a ghostly cold hand phasing through her back to comfort her
>”I’m sorry, I-”
>”No, it-it’s okay,” Amelia sniffed, rubbing her eyes dry. “We’re all trying to get someone back, right?”
>Amelia turned up to the somber Queen, her lip trembling as she stared back into the maid’s eyes for the first time
>”Your eyes… there’s light…”
>She began to sob on the spot, the look of her own tired reflection for the first time in ages bringing her to her knees
>The two sat quietly there in the deafening silence of the overhead storm, Ameli the first to pick a hand up and reach out
>Her hand slipped over the shimmering surface of Dido’s shade, the lap of her ghostly form on Amelia’s fingers cold, frigid and shivering
>She’d been alone down here for too long, and laws higher than her were going to keep it that way
>Picking her head up again she realized this, the unfortunate truth of her situation
>Amelia smiled back at her, the sniveling woman turning up to meet her eyes
>”I’m not going back up, *am* I?”
>”I can’t say that I know, Miss… All I know is I’m going down.”
>The queen looked down at the still-molten slag glass sticking around the dropped gladius
>”Then I want you to have these,” she offered, producing the worn oxhide tools. “They’ll be more help to you than- than me.”
>She unfastened the narrow belt, handing the whip away with a turn of her head
>”Well, I suppose-”
>”Wait! Some words before you go,” she interrupted. “It is not just the dead down here, no, there are others- flying, stalking, reaching. Be careful of them. Use the whip to pull ground yourself and move like that.”
>Amelia nodded firmly, the woman’s eyes sterling and resolute in the dark

>Pulling the belt tight around her waist and slipping the whip through it she stood up, hair whipping madly in the wind as her eyes dug through the storm for purchase on something
>Crags of rock, isolated and narrow, emerged intermittently from the mist
>Sword stuck through her dress again, clean and clear, she lashed out with the whip
>Wrapping tight around the stone she hauled herself forward in the gale, marching step by step until she reached the tiny refuge there
>Turning back the woman’s olive face had already disappeared into her small shelter, Amelia finding herself alone again in Hell
>The scream of the wind beat and pounded around her head as she yanked herself deeper, meter by meter crossing the infernally scoured wastelands in the second circle
>Halfway through there was a chittering, the wind cut across by a hawkish laughing from above
>Broad, membranous wings caught and carried the creature far overhead before it folded them in and dived
>Amelia tied the whip tight around her belt, sword raised anxiously towards the muffled skies
>Her silent pursuer split and flitted through the air, screeching in surprise as she kept her sword level, following the tiny squeaks that escaped down to her
>Hair spinning in a frenzy she blinked once, ample opportunity for the winged demon to swoop and strike her back before soaring back up
>Her uniform tore behind her, wind flapping the open fabric and quickly solidifying the blood weeping from back there
>Wincing in pain she ducked, the narrow length of the whip holding her tight as she shook it off
>Amelia forced her eyes open to watch the unyielding skies, a lurking silhouette creeping around above her
>She readied her hands on the sword, its surface fizzing with the odd touch of a sand grain here or there, and held it aloft
>In the second circle of hell, where no things gleamed, Amelia made light
>The whirlwind striking of sand on the blade bubbled and popped, little spasms of firelight building higher as they broke and melted on its still-bloody surface
>Building grain by grain the sword came alight, a beacon striking high into the murky air and blinding the shut-eyed demon swirling above her
>A life submerged in darkness and its eyes had adjusted too far, meager, weak flaps of its wings failing to keep it oriented in the slipstream
>Mercifully a break in the storm opened the sight to her, the creature tumbling around in the rushes of wind like a spinning, decomposing ball of yarn
>It would be no more threat to her, she knew, pulling her sword out of the air and swinging it around she shook the little drops of flame to the ground
>Continuing her march forward, pulling ahead stone by stone, she was nearing the precipice of the third circle
>Mercifully her tactic worked on the small handful of other unseen creatures who came to harass her, a few mistakes letting them tear her dress in a few more places
>Panting she came to the calm edge of the whirlwind, air relaxing and cooling into a brutal downpour overhead
>Breathing deep she began slow descent into the next circle, the muddy, wet cliffs digging and sucking at her heels
>Using the whip to grab hold of a slippery spit of rock she started the slow rappel downwards, hop by hop entering the third circle of Hell

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CIRCLE THREE - GLUTTONY

>Dropping the last few feet down Amelia’s feet caught on nothing, the maid tumbling down and sliding through the thickening mud around her
>The pour of shivering water overhead failed to stop her from climbing out of the thick, clay muck
>Sucking at her feet it pulled and groped around her ankles, Amelia shrieking in horror to see not just mud and the odd, brown puddle but fat, sausage-fingered hands writhing around beneath her
>Pulling her head up to her desolate gray-blue surroundings, head shaking off the drenching t*rrents of sleet and rain, she eyed thousands of oblate and rolling forms
>They climbed and sank and dived over and around each other, mouths gnashing empty and starving in the foodless pit they found themselves in
>Amelia shook in the cold, biting winds and raking lashes of rain pounding her as she started the long march through the moaning bog beneath her
>Her eyes narrowed at the bleak horizon beyond, the heavy weight of her soaked uniform sagging and pulling at her back, pale skin exposed where the black cloth was torn open
>The sword at her hip fizzed and popped now and again, the impure rains glancing off of its ruddy surface boiling at mere contact
>Each step was heavier, harder to bear forward as she continued her march through the desolate quagmire around her, step by step taking her past disinterested shades
>Bloated forms gorged themselves on the mud that would be their only solace, the odd twig or reed-shoot long disappeared after millions of souls’ worth of harvesting
>All that she could do was continue on, head swinging left and right as rivers of the icy rain ran down her face and brow, clinging and licking at the bottom of her neck
>Pausing in the downpour she spotted a hunched human figured- gaunt and narrow, he didn’t resemble the wallowing shades beneath him
>That was another thing, he craned his neck *above* the muck that his long, gracile form probed and picked at
>An exceptionally long finger stuck into the ground, tracing it’s way up to his shoulder, Amelia squinting her eyes in the bouncing fog drummed up in the rain
>The sight of another human deep in the droning rainstorm around her was a mercy, Amelia hobbling over rotund, groaning shades as she bore towards the man
>Waving her hands in the air she shouted, hopping to catch the being’s attention
>It picked its bulbous, elongate head up a touch, head turning to catch Amelia’s eyes
>Glaring red balls stared back at her, segmented a million times into furiously glowing compound eyes
>Drooling from its snout came a telescoping needle, thick as her wrist where it retracted into its face
>The sharp proboscis dripped yellow, oily fat from where it had been feeding on the moaning shades beneath it, burning eyes twisting around and locking with Amelia’s
>Twisting its head about it focused the image, the thousands of duplicates narrowed into one Amelia, standing wet in the pouring rain atop the muddy fields around her
>The vestigial wings on its back were useless in the rain as it turned an about face, head shuddering in excitement for something fresh and warm to eat
>In lieu of flight it shot its spindly front limbs forward, pulling itself ahead in the mud at breakneck speed
>Handfuls of the muck writhed in its long, clawed fingers, stubby legs swung forward between them as it raced towards Amelia
>Eyes shooting open she snatched at her gladius, the blade fully boiling in the brewing t*rrents of rain
>Holding it at her side she snatched up the whip in her other hand, the demon closing the distance as she wagged the coiled oxhide in hand
>As it drew closer still, clods of mud thrown and splashed at its hairless legs, she cracked the whip forward to snap at its pouncing wrists
>The oxhide popper struck true, snapping hard into its assembled wrist bones and scorching the flesh over top of them
>The creature howled in animal agony, tumbling over the writhing ground and bouncing over fat, slopping arms to a halt
>Amelia paused, panting in the deepening chill consuming her, before she approached the creature
>Prone on the ground it was motionless, no rise and fall to its chest either
>Had she really killed it just from that tiny hit?
>No, certainly not, even the impact to its bulbous head couldn’t have done that much damage, and she felt the baneful watch from its rotund, compound eyes
>”Better not to,” she said aloud, retreating. “But how do I-”
>Wrathful fingers shot out to snatch her ankle, the foot-long bony fingers wrapping around her lower leg and pulling her to the ground
>Her gladius stuck fiercely next to her, the mud boiling and cracking where it was kilned dry by the sword’s presence, Amelia shrieking in abject fear as it yanked itself forward with its good hand
>The creature’s proboscis shot forward, still dripping with bits of clotted fat where it clotted in the narrow organ, Amelia twisting left and right to dodge its frantic jabs
>Twisting her whole body she threw the creature off balance, just enough to reach out a hand and nab her sword, pulling it up in defence as the demon shook its head
>Roping her arm out she slashed at its grabbing arm, the limb hacked and wound cauterized as the creature shrieked in fury at the fizzing amputation reflected in its million eyes
>Hobbling up to her feet again she kicked the smouldering hand off of her shin, sword low and ready for the demon’s next advance
>Standing as a tripod it leaned painfully on its other, whimpering arm, stubby legs sinking slowly into the mud beneath it
>Soulless compound eyes searched their surroundings while Amelia plunged forward, sandals slapping on the ground as she charged ahead
>Calculating her position it telescoped its proboscis again, stumbling forwards to shoot it just barely through her calf
>Amelia yelped in surprise at the injury, little rivers of her blood pouring down into the reddening mud beneath her
>Gritting her teeth she leapt forward the last yard and slung her sword forward, the demon bouncing backwards an inch to avoid the slashing strike
>It turned to retreat, Amelia refusing it the pleasure as she lashed the whip out again, grabbing one of its stumpy limbs and pulling it back down
>Dashing ahead she let the blade hover over it, striking downwards to silence the groaning, screeching demon
>Its calls, however, hadn’t gone unnoticed
>Around her in the furthest, murkiest edges of her vision little figures looked up from their sucking meals, shades crying out as their bloated forms were drained of fat
>The lipidic layer built from their feeding coated and thickened around them, the rain sloughing uselessly off of oily, slick hides
>The stench of blood in the wet mud at her feet told them there was better prey nearby, Amelia’s teeth chattering in the pounding rain
>Cutting a strip of her dress away she wrapped up her leg, the wet cloth sticking taught around her calf
>It would be painful going but she had to pick up the pace, marching further and further into the far off horizon
>Fleeing as fast as her feet could take her and the mud and weather would allow a dim chorus of whimpers bore ahead of her, the maid jogging further ahead still
>Panting in the cold she slowed to a stop, sheltering behind a massive insurmountable boulder
>Its mossy surface bore her in, warmer than her fogging surroundings
>Each breath of hers sputtered out in a little cloud of condensation, the freezing downpour soaking and chilling her to the bone
>Catching her breath she peered through the drumming rain to the horizon, mercifully clear for now, she jumped
>The rock behind her was warm, suspiciously so in the brutal, icy rains in the third circle
>And it was *breathing*- no, *heaving*
>The weighty, ragged rise and fall of its lungs stuttered, failing to fill fully before wheezing back out
>Some wounded animal was laid to ground, smothering the unfortunate shades beneath it and desperately trying to breath
>Amelia peeped as it tried again to fill its lungs, the press at her back sending her forward, back into the rain and away from the small shelter
>Turning around she noticed the first sign of trouble- the ‘rock’ wasn’t mossy, but covered in a thick, warm black coat
>Amelia drew her sword again, ready to face down and finish off whatever beast was laying here
>Creeping around its gently panting perimeter she came upon a great, pawed leg, bent backwards and plowed into the mud
>Blunt nails and rough little pads stuck through the coating of mud on the bottom of the paw
>Some great, caniform creature was slumbering here, wounded and dying, Amelia reasoned as she kept sneaking ahead
>And there, staring back at her as she rounded another corner, was a beady brown eye, the first of six as the head picked up and plopped back down to stare at her
>Amelia’s verdant eyes met the dog’s own, the poor pup too weak to muster a whimper or a yawn, just barely blinking at her
>It wasn’t, she realized, just one pup either
>Two other moping heads adjusted themselves in the mud to eye her, six dark eyes all staring at her, anxious and waiting
>The poor dog remembered the last time a mortal, who she *was* based on their sense of smell, had shown himself they’d gotten a wallop of mud in each mouth
>The time it took to clean that out was too much and, by then, the *other* stalkers of the third circle had taken over
>Unable to maul them apart with the other suffering shades the bug-eyed demons had proliferated and, as Amelia rounded Cerberus’ starboard side, even managed to fell the dominant guardian of the ring
>There on his broad side were a half dozen or more of the sucking creatures, thickening themselves on his rich ichor as they drank themselves silly
>The head nearest Amelia rolled over, floppy ears pressed weakly into the mud
>”Poor boy…,” Amelia mumbled, resting a gentle hand on the side of his head. “I can take care of them, okay?”
>The dog blinked, some deeper sense on Amelia’s part telling her he understood
>Amelia hobbled through the mud, positioning herself behind the disinterested demons
>Flourishing Dido’s whip in hand she swung it, little waves rocking in its narrow leather length before she cracked it hard into the back of one of their number
>Breaking hard over its skin it left a long, flaming laceration in its back
>Thoracic vertebrae lie exposed and weeping, bits of visceral muscle, scorched from the whip crack, washed away in the rain
>Crying in agony its neighbors lifted their heads, greedy drinking stopped as the combined ten thousand lenses all focused on the polygonal composite image of Amelia
>The lone demon fell, twitching, to the ground as the immaculate licks of flame dug deeper into its primitive nerve cord, singing and burning its way upwards
>It was too easy, though, Amelia now absent the element of surprise as the other handful of demons detached themselves from the great dog’s back and stalked towards the lone maid
>Knuckles slapped in the mud as they circled closer, pupiless eyes watching, learning and calculating
>Glancing between the five surrounding her Amelia drew the sword again, the muffled gray light glinting off of the blade as she twisted it in her hand
>A lunge by the leftmost demon skimmed across her bare knee, Amelia contorting to avoid the stabbing blow and turning hard left
>Dropping the blade overhead she axed its proboscis off in one blow, the molten chitin not enough to stem the flow of stolen ichor back onto the ground
>Mumbling and cursing in its infernal, squeaking tongue the demon scampered down to the ground
>Grovelling hands dipped themselves in the oily puddles of spilt blood, desperately trying to spoon the gruesome nectar back in
>Amelia cracked her whip sideways at it, the blast to its abdomen rupturing some poorly-known demonic organ, cracking bone and searing flesh as it howled louder before slumping over
>Focusing on the advancing four Amelia cracked the whip again, droplets of mud popping up before being slammed down again in the rain
>The churning ground flashed dry at its breaking, mudcracks flaked off and pulverised before subducting back into the mire beneath
>Amelia lashed the ankle of the nearest one on her right, the demon recoiling in pain as a long arm shot forward in retaliation, tearing the strap of her empty apron where it then slacked from her neck
>Another ax-chop from the gladius lopped the arm clean off, gaunt musculature and feeble bones wrought apart in the path of the sword
>Screaming it jumped backwards and clutched the nub of its lost limb, the dead fingers curling together on the ground and resting
>Roving back it stepped on its blasted ankle and fell backwards into the mire, shaded hands grabbing and pulling at its skin and yanking it into the marshy waters beneath
>The others she’d slain sank down too, blobby arms hungrily tearing at the rotted flesh and skin
>The last three retreated slightly, their needly snouts sniffing, retracting as they doubled back
>Amelia waggled the whip at them, two pulling back as the third, fearless, sidestepped closer
>Beating the whip right into its sternum she corrected its behavior, the snap of the bone breaking forward and into its shriveled, demonic heart
>Plopping over into the mud it was pulled silently under like its comrades before it
>The last two shivered at the sight, animalistic terror turning to savage defiance
>Pack hunting wasn’t their forte, it meant sharing and less spoils for themselves
>But they were smart enough, in the primordial insectoid brains rattling in their skulls, to see the advantage in taking down a foe
>The first scooped a palmful of mud and slapped it towards Amelia, the second rounding her back as she ducked under the clod flung overhead
>She batted her sword in their direction, doubling backwards to catch the other in the back of its stringy calf with her whip
>It screeched and tumbled face-first into the muck, but not before its snickering companion could sling a gracile arm out and twist Amelia backwards, ankle yanked mercilessly as she fell face first into the mud
>Kicking her leg she managed to roll onto her back, the pouncing duo already upon her before she could muster the sword up and back into her hands
>Drooling, ready snouts sniffed and ogled over her, the apparent victory enough to set the two squabbling over top of her
>Their fingers smacked and scraped at the other, shallow cuts into their flesh yielding a sickly blue trickle of coppery haemocyanin
>Digging claws into the necks and joints of the other they tumbled over Amelia, pinned uselessly beneath the secondary battle before a gnashing jaw scooped the two up and swallowed them down
>The limping dog, already healing with its usurpers dead, swung one of its heads left and right
>The last demons were shredded underneath its gnashing canines, power and vigor returning to the panting dog as the middle nose nudged at the supine maid
>Prying herself out of the slush she steadied herself on its flaring snout, gentle eyes meeting hers as his other two heads whimpered for affection
>”Aw you are a good boy,” she patted, scritching away flecks of muck from his faces, the rain doing the rest now that he was upright again
>Weak, surely, but still standing like the maid now scratching behind his ears
>Bumping her with his nose again the mutt beckoned her underneath his belly, the reprieve from the rain like night and day as the two matched pace and marched, slowly, towards the edge of the circle
>The looming, black silhouette of the risen dog was easily enough to keep the other scant demons at bay, crawling about to suck up the puddles of spilt beast’s blood drained from their comrades corpses
>At the precipice of the next cliff, the rain having softened to a not unpleasant misting, Amelia took one of the massive paws in her hand, shaking it liberally before turning away
>A huff of air from the leftmost wet nose sent the rightmost head down, paw still held aloft
>Hovering there it opened its fuming jaw, great billows of steam cooling in the chilly air as it dragged a canine along its thick fur
>Carving through its pelt it etched out a little rectangle of fur, pinched between its teeth and pulled away from the bald skin underneath
>Draped over Amelia’s shoulders it nodded to her, each head bowing in turn before it turned away and returned to the drumming rain beyond
>”Th-Thank you!”
>Her voice carried briefly in the thunderous downpour, Amelia unsure if he’d heard her
>Dog’s ears knew better than her own and, at any rate, she’d certainly be back
>Pulling the makeshift cloak tighter around her warming self Amelia stared off into the deep shelf beyond her, sinking and plunging lower into the fourth circle
>Cerberus now a disappearing shadow behind her she began her descent, the metallic clink and smash of coinage ringing in the distance