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Post by Dante on Apr 16, 2005 4:53:54 GMT -5
Through the torrent of rain, but a dim picture of the Third Circle appeared. The ground beneath their feet could once have been fine earth, but the rain had long since turned it all to mud, and though tufts of stringy grass appeared here and there, the place was little more than a wide ditch, in which one might slip and slide about and end up crawling on one’s face. Some distance away, however, in what looked like the centre of the circle before it dropped down again, was a raised metal track, a rail of sorts, which something might run along. The rain washed all the mud off this rail, so that it shined in the dim light of the storm – a most odd sight indeed, but not nearly as sinister as what lay around it. For around the track, and around the Circle, lay dozens of bodies, each slumped on their fronts or backs in the mud, clearly quite unable or unwilling to move, although occasionally they twisted, or moaned, and it was clear that they were not unconscious. All of them bore terrible scars upon them, save some whose wounds had not yet healed to scars – there were gashes and cuts all of them, like the bite-marks of some terrible beast.
“Let’s not stay here long,” whispered the lackey to his once-master.
“I agree,” replied the latter. “My suit is getting damp.”
His suit was little more than tattered rags, now, hanging off him as they might from a poor man who had lived for some time on the streets, but the first speaker chose not to point this out, and proceeded to walk, post-haste, across the circle, taking care not to slip in the mud. As they passed those Shades who lay in the mud, some groaned, or pleaded for help, or tried vainly to raise an arm, but the travellers shrunk away from them, and hurried on.
Passing the rail, they made their way carefully to the cliff which ended each circle, but were dismayed to find that here, there was no clear way down – the mud stopped abruptly at the edge, and beneath it the ground turned to solid stone, but the rock was sheer, and could not be climbed down in this place. The Shades turned to each other.
“How are we to get further down?” asked the taller of the two, some despair in his voice. “There is no way, unless we are to fall!”
At the question, the other Shade realised that there was another, more important question to be asked in response, but as he struggled for the words, a nearby voice cried, “I can tell you the way down.”
The speaker lay on his back in the mud, and the first thing which the wanderers noticed was that he was very fat, and secondly they noticed that his portly stomach was covered in scars which were mostly healed, indicating that he had not been attacked for some time. He was thusly approached.
“Who are you?” asked he who wished to proceed.
“More importantly, who are you?” asked he in the mud. “Why aren’t you on the train which I understand that they have now? I’ve seen Shades dragged from some way to the left of the way down, begging to be taken back, before being cast into the sodden earth…”
The former-president spoke. “I am the President of the United States of America, and this is my associate, erm, what’s-his-name. Makes good coffee. Clearly an expert at it.”
But no sooner had he started to speak, than the Shade on the ground let out a cry of astonishment.
“You too?” he asked, excitedly. “It has been a long time since I met another of our noble office.”
“You were president?” asked the former-aide.
“Indeed,” replied the bloated one, “President W.H. Taft, if you please.”
“Never heard of you,” said the more recent president of the two, “but for what sin were you sent down here?”
“Gluttony,” answered Taft miserably. “I always found food to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. I would eat often, and in vast quantities, to the point where I could no longer fit the White House’s bathtub. I should, perhaps, have eaten less, but all of the food which I was given was so delicious! In fact, I found the beefsteak particularly…”
But the non-president, having heard a sinister, metallic clattering noise in the distance, quizzed, “What is that rail there, central to the Circle, and how far does it run?”
“The rail runs all around the circle,” said Taft, “and attached to it are the chains of a three-headed beast dog, which gorges itself on all of us as we gorged ourselves in life. You see the scars, and wounds, on all of us here? It’s Cerberus who did this to us all… Seems that here, a president is equal to any other man, for I have been bitten and mauled just as much as any other Shade present.”
The clattering noise grew louder, and a wolf-like howl, and a snarling, rang across the Circle.
“He is coming again!” yelled Taft. “Flee, you two, for he makes no distinction between one who belongs here, and one who doesn’t.”
“Which way?” asked both who belonged not there, in unison.
“Left from the way you entered this Circle!” said Taft, with some haste. “There is a path down there, strung with chains that you do not slip down in the mud. Run, run! For the greatest of Gluttons is near!”
Taking the words of President Taft to heart, the two who stood before him promptly ran in that direction which had been indicated, ignoring the slippery mud and paying no heed to those bodies which they stepped on. They could hear a splashing, pounding noise not far behind them, and knew that Cerberus was nearly upon them.
And then, leading leftwards down the cliff, a small path appeared, slippery with mud – but fenced on its right side with a rusted iron railing, and with chains hammered into the wall of the cliff which one could grip. The two flung themselves down the path, and then, hesitating, turned back for just a moment.
The most terrible, it seemed, of all beasts had stationed itself at the entrance to the path behind them. A monstrous dog, taller than two men, with legs as wide as tree trunks and teeth as sharp as spears snarled and snapped and growled down at them – and as though the sight were not terrible enough in itself, on either side of the main head of the hound, there were two equally awful heads, each growling and barking. But fortunately, wrapped around the necks and legs of the beast were thick iron bands, attached to which were man strong chains, and no matter how hard Cerberus strained and pulled, the chains would extend no farther.
Relief poured into the two who had taken flight, and yet they still rushed down the path as fast as they could, ‘til the mud beneath their feet thinned and turned to hard rock, and the ground of the next Circle appeared. As they reached the harsh, mountainous ground of the Fourth Circle, each man stood panting and gasping, but before they could turn to each other to discuss the horrible fate they had just avoided, a nearby voice commanded, “Halt! Who in the name of the Great Satan passes by here?”
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Antenora
Detriment Deleter
Fiendish Philologist
Put down that harpoon gun, in the name of these wonderful birds!
Posts: 15,891
Likes: 113
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Post by Antenora on Apr 16, 2005 5:00:58 GMT -5
More cool-ness.
I liked the bit about the White House bathtub. Thanks for using the sinner I suggested.
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Post by PJ on Apr 16, 2005 5:10:29 GMT -5
Hehe, that's cool. The next circle is mine! Cerberus is teh sex. Do go on.
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Post by Dante on Apr 17, 2005 6:03:17 GMT -5
Turning to their left, the two weary Shades saw, atop a raised patch of ground carved into steps, a tall throne, made entirely of gold, ornately carved and curled. Sitting tall upon this throne was a figure with the appearance of a man, with a greying beard and a devious look in his eyes. This figure had clearly a great wealth in his possession; he wore robes finer even than those of King Minos, and in better condition, and his fingers were covered in heavy gold rings topped with gems. Atop this person’s head was a tall crown, encrusted with precious stones of every kind imaginable.
“Again, I bid you identify yourselves!” bellowed the extravagant creature, in his powerful voice. The braver of the two Shades stepped forward, and spoke.
“I am the President of the United States, and this is my aide. We are making our way through this place until we reach our destination in the lake of Cocytus. And may I say,” added the former-president, “that I am very impressed by your fine appearance. Evidently you are a man of taste.”
This flattery clearly pleased the enthroned figure, for he grinned and replied, this time in a less-harsh voice. “Why, thank you, good traveller. Allow me to introduce myself – I am Pluto, lord of all wealth and thus lord over this the Fourth Circle.”
“Why, lord of this magnificent realm?” asked the former-president, gesturing to the dark and rocky land around them, and playing yet again the role of the flatterer. “Why, you must indeed be strong and wise to rise so high.”
Pluto grinned wide again, displaying a mouth filled entirely with gold teeth. “It has been a long time since I was praised so highly – most who come here curse and scream at me, for I have all the wealth that they have lost. Here, rather than wandering around futilely, let me summon up a member of the C.R.S. to show you the way down.”
At this, Pluto raised an arm imperiously, and from behind his throne scuttled a short-ish demon wearing the military-style uniform of the C.R.S. which the two travellers had seen before. This time, it displayed the number four.
Talking to the demon in an imperious voice, Pluto commanded, “Show these men safely to the path to the Styx, and see that no other Shade interferes with them on the way. Such is the reward for their respect, which is so sadly lacking these days.”
Nodding, the demon beckoned to the former-president and the lackey. Both turned to Pluto, perhaps meaning to thank him, but Pluto seemed to have grown bored of them and was adjusting the neck of his robes, all the while gazing rapturously at the splendour which surrounded him alone in this empty place. Ignoring the golden king, then, the travellers followed the demon, who led them away to the left, past Pluto and further into the mountainous region.
Much like all the other places that the Shades had so far visited, the Fourth Circle was formed of a circular ring running around the inside of the pit of Hell. Some way in, it curved into a steep cliff, at the bottom of which was the next Circle. The terrain around them was much like that of a mountain plateau – the ground beneath their feet was all rock and dust, with the occasional pillar of stone rising up, or other uneven patches of ground. No Shades were to be found near Pluto, but as their demon-guide led them further on, some of the Shades came into view.
Before each Shade was a great rock, roughly spherical in shape, which he heaved up into his arms and, straining to keep it in his arms due to the rock’s great weight, carried around a wide circle drawn into the ground. Many Shades were here doing the same thing, and they, perhaps seeing some vision of evil in their fellow tormented, would run and crash their boulders into that of another, attempting to knock them down, before turning about and travelling around the circular course another way. Shouts of rage came from among them, as they attacked and were attacked, some Shades on occasion attacking two-against-one, and sometimes a Shade would drop their boulder, at which point they were promptly ignored by all their fellows, who would turn and run for some other enemy, until they had lifted up their boulder again.
“Why do they fight?” asked the shorter Shade.
“The two types of sinner here are those who hoarded their wealth and would give not a penny away, and those who wasted away all the money they gained,” answered the demon. “Each wants the money of the other, and hates them for what they did with it – thus they battle, and always will.”
“That sounds like a lot of people I’ve met,” replied the questioner. “Is there anybody here who I know?”
And thus the speaker looked about through those who clashed and attacked, each thinking their burden greater than another’s.
“In all likelihood,” answered the demon. “But you won’t recognise their faces. Hatred and greed twist all their faces into one same expression, and you shan’t be able to tell one from another.”
“Do they really deserve this punishment?” asked the other Shade, who had been silent since his conversation with Pluto. “After all, God teaches that any money a man gains is because he is favoured by God, and so he may do with it as he wishes.”
At this, the demon-guide spat into the rocky ground.
“Speak not the name of that Enemy here!” he hissed. “He has no place here. As to your question, I know no more what that oldest of fools teaches these days, but rest assured, everybody here deserves their fate.”
“But it seems like the worst punishment of all that I’ve seen,” replied the former-president, somewhat surprised at his guide’s outburst.
“It is always the worst punishment, wherever one is sent,” pronounced the demon-guide, and then all three fell silent, and walked on.
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Post by Dante on Apr 17, 2005 6:03:36 GMT -5
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Not much farther on, the three reached a small brook on the very edge of the Circle, from which poured down into the Fifth Circle black waters like those of Acheron high above. Just beyond this, steps had been cut into the edge of the cliff, by which one might descend.
“Let us pause here, before you travel on,” spoke the demon-guide, “and I shall point out some sights to you. Over there, for example, are the tracks of the Hell-Train.”
And it was true, for just in the distance were that familiar set of tracks, and in the air hung black smoke, as though the train had just passed.
“Ah!” cried the demon. “Look over the edge, quickly, and we will see something most interesting!”
Looking over the edge of the Fourth Circle, the two Shades could see down to the Fifth. It was a dark and deadly marsh, and within could be seen dim shapes, struggling in the muddy waters, yelling and beating at each other. On each side of the marsh was a thin path of rock, and beyond this marsh rose the tall walls of a terrible city. The walls were wrought of iron, and many towers rose up on the edge, twisting towards the sky. On the Shade’s side there was another tower, standing alone, again wrought of iron, and just past it, it seemed that the Hell-Train’s tracks ran to the edge of the Fourth Circle – and there was the train itself, perched on the edge. Suddenly, a blue light shone out from the very top of the watch-tower, and in answer, a similar light was lit in a nearby tower in the city walls. Then, with a terrible creaking, clanking noise, a massive section of the city wall was lowered, by chains, until with a crash, it met the edge of the Fourth Circle. Running through the centre of this wall were train tracks, and the watching Shades suddenly realised that this wall doubled as a bridge for the train, for the train tracks met exactly those on the edge of the Fourth Circle. The train started to move forward, and, with a terrible noise, ran across the bridge and into the city. When it had passed, the blue lights were extinguished, and the wall rose once again into its previous place, and the iron walls of the city seemed as impenetrable as ever.
“You’re quite lucky to have witnessed that,” said the demon-guide. “What you have just witnessed is the passage of the Hell-Train from our Fourth Circle, across the Marsh of Styx that is the Fifth Circle, and into the City of Dis, which itself is the Sixth Circle and contains all other Circles within.”
“How are we to get in?” asked the former-president.
“Make your way down these steps to the edge of the marsh,” answered their guide, “and the watch-tower will summon a boat to you. This will take you to the gates of Dis.”
And with these final words, the demon-guide saluted, and then turned back to the direction he had come from, and marched away, no doubt to return to Pluto’s side.
The former-president prepared to descend the steps, but his companion halted him.
“What is it?” asked the halted one.
“Why,” began he who had stopped his companion, for he had remembered something vital, “do we want to progress down at all?”
The former-president considered this. “Well, that’s because… uh… We’re trying to escape. And there’s nothing else to do.”
“You’re foolish if you think we can escape,” replied his companion. “The moment we reach our place of punishment, we will be captured, and be subjected to eternal torment.”
The older man looked disheartened. “That’s true,” he answered. “But what else can we do?”
“We hide here,” said the younger, “and try to come up with a plan. We might be able to return to Limbo, somehow – or perhaps stay in some other Circle.”
“That seems sensible,” replied the other, and allowed himself to be led, quickly, to the cliff rising up on the opposite side of the Circle, which earlier they had climbed down. Finding there a small alcove, or cave, of sorts, the two Shades stopped there, and began to rest, and to plan.
---
Some time later, the two had not yet come to any definitive conclusion.
“For where in Hell can be pleasant?” asked the younger.
“Except Limbo,” said the older, “but we shan’t be able to return there. We’d never get past Minos.”
“If only we’d never come here…” said the younger. “If only we hadn’t committed whatever crimes we are guilty of.”
“You mean,” replied the older, angrily, “If only you hadn’t opened that door, and let us out into this place to begin with!”
Shocked, the younger began to form a reply, but was cut off by another enraged cry from his companion.
“We could have survived for all time in the bunker!” said the former-president. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than here! But you opened the door, and put me into Hell! And what were you thinking, anyway? Opening that door would only have led us back into a nuclear wasteland of death. You condemned me!”
“You condemned yourself!” shouted the former-lackey. “It’s not what I’ve done that brought you to Hell – it’s what you’ve done! Your crimes earned you an eternity here, not mine!”
The other opened his mouth to reply – but from the corner of his eye, he looked out of their resting-cave and saw that there was a group waiting for them.
A large group of the Circle Rendition Service where standing outside the cave, looking in, and there was a harsh and angry look on their faces. Each was carrying a weapon of some sort – swords, spears, tridents, and even more strange devices of pain were present in their hands. And standing before this terrifying crowd, with a terrible look on his face, was Pluto, wearing now armour of golden colour, and looking like the god he had once been worshipped as.
Raising an arm, Pluto cried, “Take them!” and the C.R.S. rushed forward, several grabbing onto each of the Shades, holding them tight so that they could not move.
“Now take them down to the Styx!” bellowed Pluto. “Show them that there is no escape from the inevitable!”
The assembled demons and devils immediately began to march towards the edge of the cliff, and the pathway down to the Styx, ignoring the cries and pleas of their captives. Reaching the path, they hurled their captives down it, who tumbled and rolled and crashed to the bottom. As the two Shades lay there, groaning, the demons and their lord turned their backs on them, and marched away into the distance.
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Antenora
Detriment Deleter
Fiendish Philologist
Put down that harpoon gun, in the name of these wonderful birds!
Posts: 15,891
Likes: 113
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Post by Antenora on Apr 17, 2005 6:15:19 GMT -5
I love the vivid way in which you describe everything. It's a very cool story.
Is the lackey condemned just for opening that door, or has he done worse?
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Post by Dante on Apr 17, 2005 8:51:52 GMT -5
Is the lackey condemned just for opening that door, or has he done worse? For that and that alone. I'll add a little more on the subject of differing levels of the same sin later, although I couldn't say where. Might not be until Judecca. But bear in mind that the story is, philosophically, very negative and harsh.
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Post by PJ on Apr 17, 2005 15:15:44 GMT -5
Cool. This is my level, apparently. I liked it more than all the other circles, save the Vestibule. Keep writing!
Edit: Also, what other services to the CRS perform? I mean, just pushing shades around can't be all. Can it? Do they fend off rogue angels? Or what?
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Post by Ennui on Apr 21, 2005 9:55:08 GMT -5
Peerless, Dante. I've been re-reading Dante of late-I've reached the bit where the demons and fallen angels assail the poets.
I've very few criticisms, and those I do have are more aesthetic than anything else. I preferred the disgusting Plutus of the Inferno to your more splendid Pluto, but I can see your agenda-you're sympathising with the pagan gods who are chained in the service of the new One.
I'd prefer more contemperaneous characters popping up, as that would be closer to Dante, which is full of references to Florentine enemies of the poet. Don't limit yourself to those who are dead now-you've wiped out the world in a nuclear holocaust, so, for example, I fully expect to see Tony Blair being gnawed alongside Judas, Cassius and Brutus in Cocytus.
In some ways I'm slightly annoyed that you've written this just as I'm about to embark on a bit of Noble Uniforms that will soon be riddled with Commedia references. It'll look like plagiarism, or at least influence. It isn't.
Oh yes-I love the whole "Hell taken over by bureaucrats" aspect.
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Post by Dante on Apr 21, 2005 10:07:39 GMT -5
I've very few criticisms, and those I do have are more aesthetic than anything else. I preferred the disgusting Plutus of the Inferno to your more splendid Pluto, but I can see your agenda-you're sympathising with the pagan gods who are chained in the service of the new One. The Pluto in the Inferno never did anything other than curse a bit, so I decided to re-tool his character. As it happened, I had indeed been saving Tony Blair up for Cocytus. He won't be gnawed upon, though, as he's betrayed no clear Lord, but I hope you'll like what I've done with him. The problem with more recent people is that I couldn't think of any, or any who people would have heard of... There's one in Dis, though, and probably more elsewhere.
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Post by Alice Wilde on Apr 21, 2005 14:00:29 GMT -5
Dante, this is magnificent. I loved every little bit, and I'm so glad that you continued it. Vivid, insightful, masterfully done...
You're deserving of your name. Dante himself would be proud.
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Post by Dante on Apr 23, 2005 1:15:51 GMT -5
The two who had been cast down began to pick themselves up, coughing and attempting to brush the dirt from their clothes. They were uninjured from their fall, but stunned.
“Why did he throw me down?” asked the former-president at last. “I thought that we had a good diplomatic relationship.”
“I don’t think,” his companion said, “that there is such a thing as a friend in Hell, and certainly not with a great demon such as he.”
This silenced the first speaker, who sighed wearily and gazed back up the path that led to the Fourth Circle.
“We could try to get back up,” said the companion, seeing his associate’s sorrow, and started to make his way toward the mountain path – but the associate laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Perhaps,” he sighed, “the only way is down, after all.”
And after one last look of longing at the higher Circle they had come from, the two turned around and faced the marsh of Styx.
The Fifth Circle began with a thin ledge of stone running around the edge of the Fourth Circle, with the watch-tower built on a bigger outcrop of land, but beyond the outer path was a deep bog, filled with mud and slime and dark, slowly flowing waters, fed by a black spring which flowed from up above. Within these murky, filthy waters were innumerable figures, caked in mud, each lashing out with their fists at all around them. So many of the Shades filled the ditch that barely any open patches of the river could be seen. On the other side of the marsh could be glimpsed, dimly, the iron walls of the city Dis, from which rose many tall towers, and which was covered in spikes and twisted metal to repel any who might wish to attack. The walls themselves rose above the cliff of the Fourth Circle, and seemed to be impossible to scale.
“I don’t see how we can pass across…” said the weaker Shade, hopelessly.
“Let’s travel further to the left,” said the other. “There may be a bridge of some sort, like the one which the Hell-Train rode over.”
And thus they did, making their way along the rocky ledge below which ran the dark waters they wished to avoid. The iron watch-tower rose up before them, as their path took them closer and closer to it. The watch-tower was heavily defended, with bands of spikes running about it, and with the notable absence of any way to get inside. At the top of the tower was a wide window, which ran around the top of the watch-tower below the pointed roof, like a lighthouse-window. As the two Shades approached, they spotted a devilish face peering out from behind the glass, which nodded at them before vanishing. A second later, a red flame was lit atop the tower, and the light shone through the darkness towards a matching tower set into the city walls. In answer, a red flame was lit there, too, but for a second, nothing seemed to happen. But then, through the wailing and shrieking of the struggling Shades in the mire, came a regular splashing sound, and slowly, a boat swam into view.
Like the boat which had ferried them across Acheron, the boat which came towards them was black in its entirety, and had only a lone boatman. This boat, however, was lined on the outside with spikes on every point, and every Shade who tried to beat against the sides sprang back screaming, having shredded their hands on the metal. As the boat became clearer, and eventually bumped against the ledge where the two travellers walked, it became clear that the boatman wore a robe exactly the same as that worn by Charon, but his face was covered in scars and dozens of unhealed wounds, and his long hair was bedraggled and thin, giving the impression that this second boatman had recently been in a terrible battle.
“I am Phlegyas,” he introduced himself, “and now climb in before somebody recognises you, and attempts to drag you down.”
Obeying the commands of the wounded boatman, the travellers climbed in, taking care not to touch the sides of the boat, and then the boat turned with the push of Phlegyas’s oar, and they set off through the mud, the spikes of the boat putting the fighting Shades into retreat.
“Who is imprisoned down here?” asked the taller of the two wanderers, looking over the side of the boat at the warring sinners.
“Those who loved to fight,” answered their boatman, beating some Shades out of his way with the oar. “Those who inflicted their wrath upon themselves and their family and everyone they met. Nearer the walls, there’s also -”
“Do I know anyone here?” interrupted the same questioner.
“Indeed you do,” growled Phlegyas, “and there’s many you’ll only ever have heard of.”
He paused in his rowing, and then, lifting the oar, used it to point out some of the fighting figures.
“You wouldn’t recognise them now, of course, or get any coherent words from them, but I remember them all from when they were first thrown in. Over there is Ripper Jack, who slashed his way through London many years hence. And there’s Himmler, who took joy in every kind of destruction, before destroying himself too. And there too is John Bolton, who was guilty, after all, of uncontrolled rage.”
Neither Shade could make out any distinguishing features on the fighters who rolled about – indeed, if Phlegyas had lied to them, they would never have known. But they took him at his word, and gazed intently at the ever-fighting Shades who had made this muddy river their home, and barely noticed when the boat came in to dock by the iron walls.
“Within these dread walls,” spoke Phlegyas, “lies the deep pit which holds all of Nether Hell. Take care in there, if you wish to face your destined fate, for it’s not as safe within the walls as without.”
“Which way is the gate to get inside?” asked the shorter Shade, clambering out of the boat, who had barely spoken in this Circle.
“Follow your way left around the walls, and you’ll reach it,” answered Phlegyas. “But you may wish to travel a little further around before entering in – there’s a sight which may interest you.”
Nodding, the two Shades turned to walk in the direction given.
“The last two rivers can be crossed by foot,” called Phlegyas at their retreating backs, “so you’ll meet no further boatmen. But don’t make the mistake of thinking those rivers are any less dangerous than Acheron, or Styx.”
This advice in their minds, the two Shades continued to make their way around the iron walls.
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Post by Dante on Apr 23, 2005 1:16:07 GMT -5
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Eventually, they came to the gate of Dis. The gates were as tall as the walls themselves, and were covered in spikes, and layers of metal. The centre of the doors had a large dent in it, as though it had been struck by a terrible blow long ago. A small peep-hole was set into the left door, but remembering Phlegyas’s comment that there was something interesting further on, they did not stoop to look through, and instead walked on.
Some way further, they found what they had been looking for. Thus far, all the Shades that they had seen in Styx had been battling, enraged, plunged deep into the mud, but here, a group of Shades, in a line, lay by the edge of the marsh. Strong chains bound their arms to the walls of the city, and each chain was short enough that the arms of the Shades lay stretched and pointing towards the wall, and all of the Shades themselves were plunged into the mud, with only their faces poking out, and only the chains preventing them from seeking deeper in. Seeing the two wanderers approaching, the nearest gave a terrible moan of anguish.
“More come to mock me? Have more come to spit on me, and break my arms, torment me for my imprisonment?”
“But why should we do that?” asked the shorter of the two unchained Shades.
“Everyone always has,” the Shade said miserably. “Chained to life, I faced nothing but torment, and hatred, and misery undeserved. And here, chained to the walls of Heresy, I am not even permitted to sink beneath the mud and know the peace I always desired.”
“What crime did you commit?” asked the taller Shade, and this prompted a sardonic, weeping laugh from the chained speaker.
“Crime? Crime?” he cried. “I committed no crime, save to be dissatisfied with being plain, and ordinary. For what did I ever have that some other person did not? The faceless runners, at least, did not know that they had nothing…”
“So you desired,” asked the same interrogator, “more than you had been given already?”
“I was given nothing!” shouted the bound one. “Everything I had was mediocre, empty, no more than some other person might have and take for granted. I was surrounded by special people, with special talents, and only I amongst them had nothing unique about me. I didn’t want much… I just wanted to be special, like everyone else.”
“You should have been glad of what God had given you,” pronounced the interrogator.
“Him? Him?!” cried the chained Shade, angry now. “Speak not his name to me! He never did anything for me. He gave me what everyone had and nothing more, and when I wanted something of the joys that others had, He denied them to me, and left me to wallow in sadness. Even in death, I thought I might get some peace, but I was cast down here instead, and chained up, that I might never know peace.”
At this the Shade’s anger seemed to subside, and turn to sadness.
“All I wanted, in the end, was peace,” he sobbed, “to know nothing, to see and hear and feel nothing, to be allowed the rest which I have always been denied. And instead that cruel, jealous being, too lazy to do anything for a man, ensured that I would never have that peace, not in all eternity.”
The Shade stopped speaking, then, and the only sound that came from him was the sound of weeping, and tears of sadness and hatred sprang from his eyes. The two who stood by him, not wishing to see any more, and to give the sad creature at least the dignity of a little privacy, turned back the way they had come, hurriedly.
“Did he deserve to be put down here?” asked the shorter Shade.
“Even the smallest crime, if you do not repent for it, would earn you a place in Hell,” spoke the taller, in hushed tones. “Sin cannot be allowed to touch Paradise. Although I confess that… perhaps… something should have been done for him. Putting him here seems to have served only confirm all his worst suspicions about the God who he thought had abandoned him.”
In silence, the two walked on, back to the tall gates they had passed earlier. Wondering, for a moment, what horrors they would find in the Sixth Circle, the city of Dis, they hesitated for a moment, before the former-president stepped forward and knocked three times on the gate. A deep, hollow sound, that one might have thought to come from a gong, rang out from the doors, and reverberated all about the Styx, such that some of the grappling Shades paused briefly to gaze towards the gate. Bending down to the peep-hole, the two travellers looked through, and saw a pair of dark eyes looking back at them from inside.
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Antenora
Detriment Deleter
Fiendish Philologist
Put down that harpoon gun, in the name of these wonderful birds!
Posts: 15,891
Likes: 113
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Post by Antenora on Apr 23, 2005 4:57:44 GMT -5
I liked this chapter. (And I can sympathise with the anonymous gloomy sinner...)
Will we find out what happened to Phlegyas that gave him so many wounds? Is this important?
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Post by Ennui on Apr 23, 2005 5:04:46 GMT -5
I think the wounds are just pleasingly atmospheric...
I spot a self-insert; and a very articulate one, it must be said. Also appropriate; like the rest of mankind, Dante is dead at the time this is occuring. And Wrathful seems appropriate for his usual persona...
Tiny criticism-Bush is becoming somewhat...philosophical. It's frightening. But I'm sure it's intentional.
I love the way you refer to our protagonists in mock-Dante epic terms. "He who was climbing said to he who was upon the rock" or whatever. Convincing, stylish, even, dare I say it, beautiful.
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