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Devon pushed her mug aside. “You wanted to discuss something?” Was her mother finally going to agree to leave this horrible place? They’d have to find a junction point to get up into the upperworld of Ulterra, placing them both at the mercy of the beasts and immortals roaming the Deceptive Lands, but it had to be possible.
Ulterra.
She’d see for herself the two suns shining actual sunlight, the flowing rivers, and lush, green grass. Her fellow villagers spoke of Ulterra like it was a dream. Like it wasn’t real. But it was, and shewouldget up there.
“Drink your tea,” her mother pointed, “I made it just for you.”
Devon sighed and picked up her steaming mug. She didn’t even like tea, and it used at least two cups of water, maybe two and a half. That left six cups for the rest of the day. What a waste. Then again, her mother wasn’t the one who trudged to the cistern to collect the daily rations and figure out what they’ddrink and what they needed for washing. Devon had performed that chore ever since she’d turned eight years old—twenty years ago—when her mother told her to start taking care of the house.
She took a sip and blanched. It tasted like she’d licked the ground outside.
One corner of her mother’s mouth curled upwards slightly. Her mother’s version of a smile. “It’s not great tasting, but it’s a special blend and it’s good for you. Drink up, don’t waste it.”
Devon narrowed her eyes. Since when did her mother care about what was good for her? “Did Bune give you this tea?”
The corner of her mother’s lips twitched. “Of course. He takes care of us. We’d all die down here if it wasn’t for him. You owe him.”
“I owe him his monthly rations, and I deliver it.” Their demon overlord, Bune, enjoyed the hallucinogenic effects of smoking the scrubby plant called smokeweed. Devon was the villager tasked with cultivating it. Mostly because no one else wanted their flesh gouged out by its vicious thorns.
Devon walked to his cave once a week to give him his crop delivery, but beyond that, she avoided him. He looked like a mix of a cyclops and a boulder, with lumpy skin and a slash for a mouth. She was pretty sure the last time she’d brought him his plants, lichen was growing on him because he hadn’t moved in so long. Then again, what did he need to move for? An army of harpies did his bidding, and her community—a straggle of humans called the betrayers—grew his food and waited on him.
“He’s decided it’s time for you to do more.”
As Devon took another sip, a bead of sweat dripped down the back of her neck. It wasn’t any hotter in here than normal. Why was she sweating? Her vision blurred for a moment, then cleared. “What’s in this?” She pushed the mug away.
“Bune selected a few elite members of our group to join his flock. I’m one of them, but only if I bring you as well. He saysyou’re strong. Special.” The slight smile on her mother’s face faded as it returned to her normal glower. Devon favored her in looks as they both had triangular shaped faces and green eyes, but as her mother aged, the bones of her face sharpened, like if someone touched her, they’d cut themselves. And her mother had dark hair, compared to Devon’s blond. She didn’t know who her father was, but perhaps her hair color came from him.
“No, mother, let’s leave for good. Forget about Bune.”
Her mother shot to her feet. “While you prattle on about returning to Ulterra, I’ve scratched out a living for us down here. With Bune, you and I will become powerful. Immortal.” She pointed at the mug. “There’s harpy venom in there. Within a day, maybe two, we’ll both transform into deadly harpies and join Bune’s army.”
Devon’s stomach roiled, and bile scorched her throat. “How could you?” She lurched to her feet. “You’ve doomed me to remain down here forever.”
Any feigned warmth faded from her mother’s gaze as she shrugged. “You were never leaving this place. You’re a betrayer too, and we’re banished down here for eternity. Might as well become powerful and take what we can.”
Devon grabbed her mug and threw it across the kitchen as hard as she could. With a crash, it shattered against the stone wall above the sink. Her face felt too tight, her skin itchy. Tears threatened, but didn’t fall. Her mother didn’t deserve them.
Without another word, she wheeled on her heel and raced out the front door, gulping in air.
She didn’t notice where she’d fled until she’d already climbed high up the path along the shoulder of the mountain. Whenever she had a free moment, she hiked this trail. Up here, if she was lucky, she might breathe in a few wisps of air not clogged by brimstone and sulfur or peppered with flecks of ash.
The silence drew her attention.
She scanned above. Grey sky spread to the horizon, casting a weak, murky light over the blighted land with its cracked, burnt sienna soil and few scraggy trees. But no shrill shrieks filled the air. There wasn’t a harpy, with their hideous beaked faces and lethal talons, in sight.
That was odd. Even when they were battling for Bune elsewhere, a few still lingered up here. She’d always thought it strange they patrolled this side of the mountain when Bune’s cave was on the northern slope, but every time she hiked up here they perched nearby, watching her. And they never let her climb up to the summit.
She laughed a dry, bitter laugh. At least when she turned into a harpy, she could fly to the peak. Although she doubted she’d care much about fresh air then. As a harpy, she’d only want to comb the underworld for battles and raw meat.
What a future to look forward to.
Her hands clenched into fists, and she strode on. As the path steepened, her calves screamed. A short distance below the summit, the path flattened and widened into a small shelf. Centered in the middle, with talon marks scuffed into the surrounding ground, stood a massive black obelisk.
Devon wiped the sweat from her brow and stepped closer. The obelisk stood twenty feet high with a deadly point at its tip, its base spanning the width of her outstretched arms. She scanned the sky for harpies again, although she’d hear their shrieking if they returned. Was this monument the reason the harpies forced her back down the mountain?
The sides of the obelisk were smooth except for two words etched on the front, “The Harvester.” The words flashed as if light flickered across them, but Peklo was perpetually grey. No sun.
The air hummed like it did after lightning struck the ground. The unceasing winds cut off as if someone sliced through the airwith a knife and killed them. A slight whiff of fresh cedar broke through the sulfurous stench of the underworld, and Devon’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Any thoughts about harpies and her future … faded. She sidled forward. Where was that smell coming from?
