Silas and Banshee stayed in the bow of the boat, hidden by the cabin in the center of the deck. The Boatman didn’t move, quietly doing his job. The moans and screams from the damned souls had died down, leaving the occasional sob. The sky was still a grim dark. The boat cut through the water in near silence, waves lapping against the hull. There was blandness everywhere—shades of black and gray, no color.
Color meant life, excitement. There was none of that in Hell. Color, when it was present was muted and grayed over, like looking through filth-covered glasses. Hell was so boring.
It took all of Silas’ will power not to move.
The river widened and shores pulled back. This was the Lake of Fire. The spot where all the rivers of Hell met, the hub of this damned world. And across
