Page 6 of The Fifth Gate

Okay, I’m really kicking myself over the whole ‘happy to see a flaming hellscape again’ comment. I was wrong. Not just wrong, delusional. Was Chaena’s frozen Hell a nightmare of frost and snow and dark water that would swallow your soul? Sure! But at least I never had to worry about sweating inside my metal and leather armor shell. The lack of chaffing alone would make it superior.

One sweaty, grimy, disgusting mess through a field of sluggishly oozing magma and volcanic ash, and I’m actually in sight of Ares’s castle. There’s still no sign of the man, himself. My doppelganger must be giving him a run for his money. What do you know… Hades actually did me a solid, after all.

Of course, I’ll never let him know. Who knows what he’d ask for in return?

The guard patrols seem pretty regular, from what I’m watching. Almost automated. I guess that makes sense; they’re probably there for show, or just habit. Who in their right mind would ever try to break into Ares’s horrible lumpy hell castle?

Oh, right. Me.

The guards are dressed in black armor, but their clothing isn’t exactly a uniform. Other than the color scheme, everyone’s is different. One clanks past in full plate like a knight ready for a joust. Another marches at his side in a war kilt made entirely of strips of black leather. There are centurion helms, modern camouflage, chain mail, and one man who has streaks of woad painted in sweeping circles all over his skin.

Even though they come from every century and all over the world, they move together seamlessly, almost like they’re all parts of the same machine.

Shit.

Actually, their regularity might just work to my advantage. Every part of me squirms at the time it takes, but I watch from my awkward hiding place, wedged into a crevice of a hill. I time the patrols, counting in my head as they go by, marking the time where part of the keep is out of their line of sight and for how long.

I’m pretty sure I’ve got it down. My muscles tense, ready to move. I might not be anything special in a fight, but I can run when I need to, and for once, I’m actually in flats.

It’s a fight not to hold my breath, but I force air in and out as evenly as I can. Gasping like a fish in the bottom of a boat isn’t a great idea when you’re at least attempting to be sneaky.

The second the guard patrol’s backs turn the corner, I’m up and running. My legs wobble, muscles a little stiff from being crouched in a weird position for too long, but I power through. I’ve only got seconds to get through the narrow window slit, and I pray that there isn’t another guard patrol immediately on the other side.

It’s a bit like trying to time things in a video game, trying to avoid your character from getting smushed flat by a falling ceiling trap. Except instead of a lost life and a failed level, the consequences are death, war, and the loss of your only remaining family.

No pressure.

I tuck my head down. No point keeping watch. If I’m spotted, I’m screwed. My boots kick up little puffs of ash as I run, all the while hoping I don’t trip in one of the many little pockets and holes in the ground.

I can hear the clanking of plate mail guy’s armor coming, like a weird metallic echo of my own springing pulse.

The window slit is in front of me, and I jump high enough to catch the top of the opening with my hands and kick my legs through. The fit is tight, even for me, rock scraping against either side of my hips as I swing through the opening.

Then I slam my back against the wall right beside the window, my heart in my throat, listening for any sounds of pursuit or alarm. I can barely hear over the sound of my pulse in my ears, surging like an ocean tide.

A drop of sweat slides down the side of my face, but I don’t dare wipe it away as booted footsteps approach. I barely breathe as I wait, listening to the fading clank of armor retreating. Then I sag back against the wall so hard, I almost slide right down to the floor.

It’s only then that I dare to take a look around.

Honestly, it’s pretty much like what I expected. Not a typical castle, all carved stone blocks stacked up. This looks more natural, in a weird way. Like a volcano spat it up whole, and when it cooled, someone decided to make a keep out of it.

The walls and floor are all the same porous rock as everything else I’ve seen in this place. The edge between the two is a smoothed, rounded thing, like an insect’s burrow, rather than the right angle you’d see in a manmade building. There are hovering lights up near the ceiling, like little candle-less flames that make flickering shadows everywhere. All of them are a deep, dark red color, and they cast the hall into a flickering web of shadows.

I don’t dare to use magic, but if I’m going to have any hope in, well, Hell, of finding Janie, then I need to do something. The mirror would probably help, but stumbling around looking over my shoulder sounds like a really good way to get caught by the guards. I’m sure there are more patrols inside, no matter how ceremonial they might be.

I can’t send my power out, seeking, but I can loosen my defenses a little bit, and see what I might sense here.

Janie is family, blood of my blood. My father was her many times great grandfather, and when it comes to magic, that kind of stuff is important. So, I loosen my shields, just a little, and set off down the hall like a bloodhound chasing an elusive trail.

In the shadowy half-light, my skin feels too big. I’m hyper aware of every brush of air, and the fine little blond hairs on my arms stand on end like a cat’s whiskers. My ears strain for a hint of armored feet, trying to hear over the rapid drumming of my own pulse. I use the mirror to peek around corners because I really don’t want to walk head first into a guard patrol just because I can’t hear them over the ragged sound of my own breathing.

Gods, I miss Adonis. What I wouldn’t give to have him here beside me. I’ve gotten used to having someone I can trust at my back, someone to keep an eye out behind to make sure no one is sneaking up on me. Is he alright? Has Morevna kept her word to heal him from Chaena’s curse? She seems like the type to take things like vows seriously.

What will he do if I don’t come back?

I really don’t like thinking about it, but… would he just stay in the Fourth Garden? Would he wait forever? The world he knew is long gone. I mean, like, eons gone. What would he do alone in a world where you can’t make a name for yourself with a horse and a sword?

My jaw sets. I’ll have to get back to him. With Janie. I promised to help him. I’m not about to let one ass-hatted God’s revenge make me break that promise. And what’s more, I want to go back to him. I care about him. Maybe I even love him. And Ares would take that all away from me…

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