Chapter Thirty
We descended the stairs toward the fiery azure light of the river. I felt gravity returning with each step until my feet once again found solid purchase on the rocky stairs. It was as though my soul knew that it belonged in those dark tunnels in a way that it had not belonged in Carson’s private corner of the hereafter. As we approached the dock, I could see the ferryman’s slender ship already approaching. I pulled out Jackaby’s leather purse and passed it over to Carson.
“Here, take one of these,” I said. “You’ll need it for the trip.” Carson peeked inside and pulled out the petrified string of sheepgut. “Why will I need this?”
I grabbed the strip and stuffed it in my pocket. “Not that—a coin. Take one of the coins to pay your passage.”
Carson nodded and took out an obol. His eyes were on the water as he passed the pouch back to me.
Charon was pressing toward us with measured strokes. He was nearly at the platform before I realized the boatman was not alone. A tall figure stood in the boat behind him. The stranger wore a crimson shirt framed by a pristinely tailored suit in a shade of midnight black so pure that I could barely tell where his jacket ended and the darkness of the cavern began. Trying to make out any details made my eyes hurt.
I was so preoccupied watching their approach that at first I did not notice Howard Carson nearing the water’s edge ahead of me. Tendrils of blue and black writhed within the flames at his feet, churning and swelling as he stepped up to the shoreline.
“Wait! Mr. Carson, don’t—” I called out, but I was too late. He was leaning over, inspecting the ethereal flames, when an eager coil unfurled itself like a whip and snapped around his neck. Carson was hauled face-first into the Stygian waters.
I threw myself forward and seized his legs, pulling back with all my strength. The surface boiled spitefully in response to my efforts. Inches from my skin, the tendrils of liquid flame danced and taunted. I braced my feet against the dusty shore, but Carson only slid down farther. In the dark water below, the undulating forms took shape. Countless scores of marble gray hands—hands with too many fingers—all strained and grasped at him, clutching at his shirt and tugging him down by his hair. I pulled and kicked at the earth, but with all my strength I could not draw him back. I had taken Howard Carson from his eternal reward and delivered him to this.
And then things got worse.
As I struggled in vain, the leather purse shook and shifted in my grip. I was just adjusting my hands for another effort when the coins slipped out. My arms were full of Carson, and I could do nothing but watch dismally as the little obols spun end over end through the air to sink—plop, plop—into the dark water. At the same moment, Carson slid several inches farther down and a chilling cold clutched my wrist.
It had me. I realized with sickening clarity that the waters would claim us next. Plop, plop—just like the coins, we would fall into the darkness, never to be seen again.
Charon’s boat clunked against the old boards a little ways away. Out of the corner of my eye I half registered that the dark stranger had stepped smoothly ashore. I heard footsteps tapping on wood, and then crunching across the dusty ground. The man’s shoes reflected the roiling sapphire firelight in the shine of their polished leather as he drew up beside me.
“That’s enough,” he said calmly. His voice was fathoms deep and profoundly resonant. I felt it vibrating in my chest almost as much as I heard it. Instantly, the forces beneath the surface released their hold and I fell over backward. Carson burst, gasping and sputtering, out of the water in front of me.
I looked up. The stranger was tall. Impossibly tall. I can recall in perfect detail the ruby-tipped tie pin affixed to his ebony necktie, can picture the sharp lines of his red lapel and his crisp starched collar—but as hard as I try to remember it, the man’s face remains no more than a distant shadow in the mists of my memory.
“Hello, little mortal,” he said. “You’re early.”
I swallowed and stood, looking up at where his face must have been—I’m almost certain he had one. “Just visiting,” I said. “I’ll be going back home straightaway.”
“Of course,” he said, graciously. His voice echoed disconcertingly through my skull. He swept a hand toward the ferry. “Charon will see you out.”
I hesitated, glancing at Carson, who was pushing himself upright weakly.
“Ah. You wish to take this man’s soul with you, is that it?” The stranger took two steps and was at Carson’s side, looking him over.
“Yes,” I said. “Please?”
The stranger circled silently for several steps. Carson stiffened like a schoolboy under the headmaster’s gaze. “His place is here,” said the man. “Here, he can have anything his heart desires, unlock mysteries of creation. Would he really want to leave that all behind? I understand the world above was less than kind to him before he left it. Why ever would he want to go back?”
Carson straightened. “For her.”
“Hmm.” The stranger turned back to me. “You must love him very much that you would come so far to retrieve him,” he said.
“It’s not like that,” I replied. “But he’s important.”
“Every soul is important.”
“Oh—I have this,” I said, rummaging in my pocket.
“What’s that?” the stranger said.
“A string from the lyre of Orpheus.” I pulled out the petrified relic. Jackaby had made many claims about the origins of his eldritch artifacts, but I had never before hoped so hard that he was right.
The stranger did not reach for it. “And?” he asked. I could hear the grimace in his voice. “Are you looking for somewhere to dispose of it? Have you run out of refuse bins above?”
I blinked. “You—you don’t want it?”
“What would I want with a crusty scrap of sheep intestines?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “As a memento, I suppose. A reminder of Orpheus and his lovely voice.”
“Little mortal,” the stranger said, “we don’t need a string to remember Orpheus. We have the idiot’s head. As it happens, I don’t especially want your little friend, here, either, so I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you the standard bargain. Leave. Keep your eyes forward without wavering until you’re both free from my domain, and he can follow you out. Don’t peek. Don’t doubt. Don’t hesitate. Do we have an understanding?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” I said.
“As for you.” The man turned to Carson. “You may follow in silence until you have crossed the final threshold, and then you will be free to leave—but know this. Should you hesitate, should you set even one foot back in the land of the dead, this realm will not relinquish you again.”
Carson nodded.
“Very good. Now then, I believe you will be needing these.” He gave a small gesture, and the blue-black tendrils surged out of the water and deposited my two lost obols into his hand. He delivered them to me.
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Good-bye, little mortals,” the stranger said.
The fires dancing across the surface of the river suddenly flared white hot and leapt above our heads. Then, just as quickly, they were out and the tall dark man was gone. I resisted the immediate instinct to look back at Howard Carson. Keeping my eyes forward, I climbed back into the boat instead and handed Charon two obols.
“Thank you,” said Charon. Both coins glowed a warm red this time and then crumbled to dust between his fingers. “So,” he said. “Did you have a nice visit?”
The boat rocked as we cast off. Charon directed the dragon-shaped masthead into the swirling fog. I wanted to turn, to see Carson sitting behind me. It was maddening to imagine going through all of that only to lose him on the way out—but I stayed strong.
“I asked him,” said Charon.
“You asked him?” I said. “Asked him what?”
“About the waters,” said Charon. “I do not think that English has all the right words to explain it, but I will try, if you like. He calls it the Terminus. The End Soul.”
“That thing is a soul?”
“Yes. All souls have power, you see. Every person has a unique soul—a spirit—and so too does every place. Human spirits and the spirits of the places they inhabit can become bonded, and their bond makes both souls stronger. Your friend, Jennifer Cavanaugh, has such a bond—and it is powerful enough to allow her to remain above. The underworld also has a soul. It has the End Soul.”
“So,” I said, “if we had fallen in, we would have become bonded to this Terminus thing the way Jenny is bonded to Augur Lane?”
“Not exactly. In a way, you already are. All souls are bonded to the End Soul. What they can become is lost in the End Soul. They can become a part of the single energy that powers all eternity, but at the cost of everything that makes them unique. For some, those who are ready, it is a great reward. For others—those who would prefer to remain distinct—it is less pleasant. Does that make sense to you?”
“I think it does,” I said.
The dark waters lapped at the sides of the boat and shadowy shapes moved about in the mist all around us. We arrived more quickly than I expected back at the landing beneath the yew tree. The little trickle of water still snaked down from the entryway to drain into the river, and the glow of sunlight cut through the gloom from above.
“Charon?” I said.
“Yes, Abigail Rook?”
“Thank you for asking. You didn’t have to do that for me. You’re really very sweet.”
“That is kind of you to say, Abigail Rook,” said Charon. “I look forward to our next meeting.” He slid the boat snugly up against the mooring. “But I hope that I do not have the pleasure for a very long time.”
“Likewise,” I said as I climbed out onto the dock. “Good-bye.” I almost glanced behind me as I said it, but I caught myself and managed to keep my eyes fixed on the opening up above. If Howard Carson was behind me, he made not the faintest whisper of a sound. I ascended the stairs and stepped up to the bright threshold of the living world.