Chapter 22 – Jessica
The Malebolge: The Trench of Falsifiers
T he last of the clean water ran out yesterday and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. What if it takes longer than another day to reach the end of the trenches? What if… what if we’re wrong? What if there is no portal to the human world on the other side? What if we have to walk all the way back to the entrance of the Malebolge – I don’t think I can survive the trek without water.
“Why so gloomy, kiddo?” Sariel asks as we follow in Ithuriel’s wake through the final trench.
“I’m thinking about how long a human can survive without water. Was it two or three days? Do you know?”
He purses his lips. “No idea. But I do know that I can give you a drink right here, right now, if you’re up for a blowie.”
I give him a deadpan look. That was vile and pervy and… totally him. Ithuriel’s light flashes like a lightning storm.
“Oh, my,” Sariel drawls. “I do believe our boy would knock me onto my ass now if he could have. Only question is, if he’d ride it after, give it a good beating.”
We are wasting time listening to your preposterous ideas for a solution. We set out to save humanity but are failing to keep one alive.
Sariel pokes my side. “I’m just trying to distract our poppet. Hop on, sweet cheeks.” He turns his back to me. “I’ll do the legwork for you.”
Sighing with relief, I hop onto the Fallen Express. “I’m gonna miss this when we’re out of here,” I say, nuzzling the side of his face.
“Who says we can’t make this your regular mode of transportation?” he purrs, nuzzling me right back.
“W–well,” I stutter. Does he mean he wants to see me even after we’re done with what we set out to do? “Once our mission is over, we won’t really see each other.” I can’t help the wistful note in my voice.
Great, I’m turning into a stage five clinger and the male hasn’t even fucked me yet.
“Won’t we?” he muses, then begins to whistle a merry tune.
What the Hell is that supposed to mean? But he’s not the only one I’m going to miss after we’re done.
“Itha?” I call for the angel hesitantly.
Yes, dear heart?
I melt into a puddle all over the Fallen’s back. No more water shortage.
I try to form my next question as delicately as possible. I know what we did, being intimate, closed the doors of Heaven for him. And I feel guilty, I do, but I’m also a selfish bitch because I love him and don’t want to say goodbye. I’m clearly not as strong as Sariel was a thousand years ago when he fell rather than acted on his urges.
“Will you stay with me when we’re done? In Purgatory?”
The angel pauses for a moment, like a human missing a step, but Sariel speaks before he can answer me.
“No. He won’t.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “W–what? Why not?” And why am I stuttering so much all of a sudden?
“You heard me,” Sariel says, his voice unyielding.
“Why are you being like this?” I whisper, not bothering to hide the hurt. I squirm for him to let me go, but he tightens his grip and turns his head to give me a warning glare. It’s only now I realize how much his demeanor has changed over the weeks, how much he warmed up to us.
Let us focus on leaving this place whole and fast. Our path is about to become perilous to navigate.
Once Itha says the words, I start smelling the putrid stench of rot and decay.
“Ugh, what is that?” It’s as bad as the trench of poop.
“We’re in the trench of falsifiers,” Sariel says as if that’s an explanation. When I let my silence speak for itself, he continues. “The sinners here are punished by deteriorating mentally and physically, much like their lies corrupted humanity when they were alive.”
I scrunch my nose. “So, they’re just… rotting away?”
“Let’s just say you’re gonna be glad I’m carrying you in a minute.”
Sariel wasn’t wrong. Soon, the ground is littered with writhing figures, their bodies in various advanced stages of decay, their abused throats emitting agonized rasps as they crawl over each other. The Fallen is hard-pressed to find a clear spot to step on.
“Can you fly up, Itha?” I ask the angel still floating next to us. There’s no point in him enduring this rancid smelly miasma too.
I’m uncertain of the extent of the curse, but rather err on the side of caution and predict the archdemons who created this place wouldn’t allow Celestials to float around in their ethereal form any more than they’d allow flying. Especially if the Celestial in question is an angel.
Fallen angel , I think, but don’t say it out loud. Does Heaven already know they’re one short in their ranks?
Why would he give up an eternity of living in the light to muck among the corpses with us? He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, but, surely, he must? Surely it wasn’t just lust? Ugh, I hate my inner doubts. Shut up, you nasty cow , I tell the voice that’s always criticizing me, always raining on my parade.
I’m distracted by the sinners’ screams as they claw at their own flesh, causing the boils covering it to erupt in rancid pus. Some of the bodies are swollen and bloated, and I dread witnessing them burst, seeing what comes out, or worse, smelling it.
My nose twitches and itches. In fact, everything is starting to burn a bit. I squirm against Sariel’s back, trying to scratch the spreading itch.
“What are you doing, poppet? It’s not the time for a bump and grind.”
“I’m just… so damn itchy!” I growl, letting go of his neck to scratch mine.
Stop for a moment, Sariel.
The tone of Itha’s incorporeal voice gives me pause. Something’s clearly wrong. “What is it?” I ask. “What’s happening?” God, I would kill for a sip of water.
Itha’s lights flash alarmingly and Sariel rumbles with frustration.
“Fuck. We need to hurry.”
With that, the fallen angel picks up the pace, no longer caring if he steps on a sinner’s rotten face, gracefully keeping his balance even with me anchoring him down.
“Is someone gonna tell me what’s wrong?” I shout, the speed at which we’re traveling whisking the words away. But the angels hear me.
You are decaying.
“I’m what ?” I shriek, bringing one hand up to inspect it. What I see makes the breath leave my lungs. Sinister black veins are spreading over my skin like ghoulish webbing.
“Sar,” I whine, my voice like a lost child’s.
His jaw muscles tick against my cheek as he clenches his teeth. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you,” he vows.
Sinners protest as his heavy, booted steps stomp over their squishy bodies, some yelling out, some only mustering a groan. All the while, I watch in terror as boils start appearing on my skin.
“I don’t want to end up like them,” I whisper. The agony, the indignity of such an end…
We will not allow that.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours, until, finally, the layer of sinners underfoot begins to thin.
“Itha, over there,” Sariel murmurs to the angel.
I see it.
“What?” I question. “Is it the portal?” I’m not above praying, even though we’re as far from Heaven as we can get down here.
“Yes.”
“Ugh, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I sigh into his hair. I’m so very tired, it feels like my neck can’t keep my head up anymore.
“I’ll scream it for you later. Just hang on.” He sounds so worried. Could give a girl butterflies.
“M’… hangin’ on,” I mumble. It’s hard to hang on though. My arms hurt so much. Every step Sariel takes rubs them against his leather vest and it feels like my skin is getting stuck to it and peeling off with the movement.
“You have to hang on, Jess,” he repeats. Am I not hanging on?
I will enter first and see that it’s safe.
I crack my eyes open and see the rift to the human realm. Jagged and flickering, it pulses like a wound struggling to stay open. It’s also freezing cold. Or is that just me?
“Hurry,” Sariel urges the angel. Either the void is spreading and taking over the world, or the edges of my vision are turning black.
With a flash of light, Ithuriel’s gone, and I’m left alone with the pacing fallen angel. I try to speak, but it feels like swallowing shards of glass.
“We’re almost there,” he whispers softly. My arms finally lose the last of their strength and I start sliding down his back. Faster than lightning, he turns and sweeps me up into his arms.
“Stay with me, baby girl,” he pleads. I want to ask him if he cares whether I live or die. A part of me wants to know if my death will matter to him, just a little bit, if he’ll mourn me like he mourned his friend, Armaros.
Ithuriel returns with a whoosh.
It is safe. An alleyway in a human city. There are rats and it smells of urine so it took me a moment to ascertain I’m not still in Hell.
It’s weird that Sariel doesn’t snort at the angel’s humor. I would if I could. But I don’t get to question it for too long. Darkness pulls me in.