Page 175 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
‘Da one ya’ve come to meet.’
Wren glanced up at Belphegor.
The King of Hell had not changed in the slightest since Mal had last seen him. Before them rose an enormous throne, and upon it sat the King of Sloth himself—colossal in stature, his body carved from the same burnt-orange stone that formed the desolate landscape around them. His beard spilt downward in a heavy cascade until it brushed the ground where his bare feet rested.
Where his eyes should have been there were only empty sockets; hollow voids that nonetheless seemed fixed upon them both.
When he slowly leaned forward, the great crown perched upon his head tilted dangerously, as though it might topple and crash down upon them in a storm of stone and dust.
His vast mouth opened into a silent, cavernous scream.
Wren stepped in front of Mal without hesitation, placing herself between her friend and the monstrous king wrought from ruin. She glanced up at him, small and defiant beneath the towering weight of Hell.
They stood in silence, staring at one another for what felt like an age.
At last, the king’s attention shifted.
Those vast, hollow sockets turned from Wren to Mal, and something within them seemed to stir. An ancient, resonant hum that vibrated through the air itself. The ground beneath their feet trembled faintly, as though the very dust of Hell recognised its master’s stare.
Mal felt the instinct to look away clawing at her, but sherefused to yield to it. Instead, she drew herself up, squaring her shoulders, and held her ground.
She would not show fear.
‘We’ve crossed yer lands,’ Wren said at last, her voice carrying through the stillness. ‘We’ve come to visit a king. Da king of all kings.’
Belphegor tilted his colossal head, the slow motion filled with a heavy, ponderous curiosity.
‘We’ve come to make a bargain with him,’ Wren continued. ‘Melinoe, daughter of Hades and Hecate, has come to make a bargain.’
Belphegor leaned forward.
Slowly.
Terribly slowly.
Until those enormous empty sockets loomed before them like dark gateways—vast, endless portals swallowing what little light existed in that desolate place.
For a fleeting moment, Mal wondered what might happen if she leapt into one. Would she vanish forever? Would she become another lost soul trapped within this ring of Hell? It was a question she had no desire to answer.
At last Belphegor leaned back into his throne, the immense movement sending a faint tremor through the ground. Wren wasted no time. She pointed towards the small door set into the base of the throne beneath the king’s enormous feet.
‘We betta hurry before he changes his mind.’
Mal did not argue. Together they hurried forward, slipping through the narrow doorway and into the darkness beyond.
The air inside was thick and lightless, swallowing the world around them.
‘Wren,’ Mal said as they moved deeper into the gloom, ‘do you know who the king is? The one I must visit. The one I wasbound to?’
It was difficult to see Wren clearly in the shadows, but there was just enough dim light to catch the curve of her smile.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘But we’ve got to jump into da next ring now. Make sure ya land on yer feet and not yer arse. Mine’s still sore. Ya’d think I wouldn’t feel such things, wouldn’t ya? I mean, I’m dead. So why is it that if I can’t feel heat or cold, I can still feel pain? Seems a bit pointless, if ya ask me. Maybe they do it on purpose. A way to torture souls. That must be it.’ She paused briefly. ‘What was yer question again?’
Mal could not help the small smile that tugged at her lips. How she had missed Wren and the endless stream of chatter that seemed to tumble from her without pause.
‘What king of Hell was I bound to?’
Wren’s smile sharpened faintly in the dim light.
