by Cassie Day
I take a deep breath in the charged silence.
But before I speak—
“Is it because my house is not to her liking? I can build it bigger. Or are our couplings not pleasurable enough for her? I’ll try harder, I promise.” He gasps for breath, then continues. “Does she not love me anymore?”
Heat creeps up my chest to fill my cheeks. He speaks of homes, love, and couplings.
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. Anything to stop the mortification filling my stomach. “Eudoxia’s pregnant.”
His face blanks. His hands fall slack.
I get a single step away. Then, between one blink and then next, I’m swept into his arms. He swings me around. My stomach heaves. I swallow the vomit building in my throat.
“Pregnant!” he says.
I’m plopped back onto the ground. My knees threaten to buckle. I lock them, afraid to glance at the square.
So much for not causing a commotion.
Hushed, filled with awe, he speaks again. “Pregnant.”
Clearing my throat, I straighten my dress. “Yes. She’ll return when the child is able to change.”
“I’ll miss so much. The pregnancy and our child’s first months?”
My heart sinks. He truly doesn’t know. “The child won’t change until she, ah...” I hesitate. “Experiences a cycle.”
“A cycle? A moon cycle.”
“A bleeding cycle.”
Face filling with blotches of pink, he nods. The realization hits him all at once. How long he’ll truly miss his lover. How his child won’t know him until she’s a woman herself.
“At least a decade.” He closes his eyes. Tears cling to the ends of his lashes. “So long?”
I offer him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Words mean nothing. His eyes don’t open. His posture doesn’t straighten. If anything, he curls more into himself like this will stave off the full truth.
The sun beats on overhead. The world keeps whirling by.
Black creeps into my vision. My head lightens until the sky tilts. I must go before the sickness grasps me fully. The lack of sleep, the trips above—I’m weakened. I can’t withstand being in this form much longer.
I back away. “She loves you.”
He nods. The tears dribble to the end of his nose. “I’ll wait for her. Please tell her so.”
But Eudoxia finds no comfort in his words when I return beneath and find her in my mother’s cave.
She’s gone until dusk. When she returns, her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. We study the map. She says nothing.
I allow myself three days of rest. Eudoxia continues the search, stopping by often to check and re-check the map. Her stomach swells with the first signs of pregnancy. She’s careful with the little bump. Careful not to swim into walls or let the roughhousing young among our family get too close.
By the third day, my skin itches. I want to go further than the cave or ruin walls. My mind wanders in loops and circles. Doubt creeps in, confidence fills its place, and the two swirl together into a wild cloud of emotion.
I'm not ready, my mind insists. Nekros is no place for the living, regardless if the living is a siren.
I leave on the third day because if I stay, I'll claw my skin off.
The blossoming of early spring fills the Akri Sea with all manner of creatures. Octopus and shining fish spread a rainbow across the sea. Whales sing while scooping swarms of krill, tempting our youngest to join in their joyous songs.
I glance but otherwise ignore them all. I have no time for useless wanderings.
Still, I find myself watching the gulls often. They flock to land, islands, and even boulders. They roost anywhere free of water without care, leaving heaps of feathers, sticky excrement, and nesting material behind.
I trail in the wake of flocks for hours at a time, gliding from island to island until my tail aches. But it's a delicious sort of ache after sitting idle for so many days.
Eudoxia finds me rounding the corner of an island swamped with gulls. We nearly crash. She twists at the last moment, hand cradling the fragile life growing in her womb.
I careen through the water until I thud into a slimy-smooth rock offshore.
A gull screeches. Almost like laughter.
“Be careful,” she says, glare set in place.
Nodding, I swallow sharp words. I’ll use the energy for searching instead.
“Any luck?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand across the rock. Bits of algae stick to my skin. I rub my fingers together until it flakes off. Above, the flock careens in a wide arc. I follow them with her trailing after.
I bring the map to the forefront of my mind. The gulls are heading for the Kavalio Isles off the Kyma shoreline. Are there fishing boats or a nesting site?
Three islands erupt from the sea ahead. The first two isles are rough circles barely above water, home to a smattering of nesting gull pairs. The third stretches far above in a steep hill.
My heart leaps. I force myself to take calming breaths. This may be a small hill and nothing more.
“What do you think?” Eudoxia asks.
She tries to swim ahead but I grab her shoulder.
The gulls settle, shrieking and puffing out, feathers trailing to the grass beneath. They settle on what I thought was an odd boulder at the top of the hill.
But no, the sides are too smooth and pristine. The color is all off; instead of dull gray, the stone is ebony streaked with pure white. The center is empty, forming a sleek archway two-men high.
It’s man-made.
I lunge forward. Steps climb the hill straight from the sea edge. The beginning is slicked with algae. What’s after the archway? I squint. A mound of dirt?
I grasp handfuls of grass and pull myself out of the water, landing on the grass with a grunt.
“We found it,” Eudoxia says. Her hand grabs my shoulder, shaking it with quick jerks.
What if it’s only an entrance to a cave, not Nekros? Yet as I eye the gleaming steps, my heart knows.
This.
This is what I seek.
“Go on,” she says.
Nodding, I force the change. After days without changing, pain sears beneath my skin. I gasp, eyes fluttering closed. When they reopen it’s to myself with two legs, my chest still on the grass.
I sidle along the island edge with my weak legs. The glass slips beneath each of my tugs. More than once, I fall onto my face.
With a sigh, Eudoxia grips one of my arms. She pulls me along until we stop at the lowest step.
Gritting my teeth, I stand. My feet slip-slide along the first step. She grabs my calves, then ankles, in an attempt to help. The pack of clothing strapped to my back teeters. The added weight drags me backward.
A hysterical giggle builds in my throat. At this rate, I’ll crack my head before I reach the entrance.
A shove hits my thighs. I tumble forward. My chin catches on one of the steps, scraping the skin raw. Blood trickles onto the stone.
Hands scrabbling at the dry steps above, I pull my feet off the steps covered in seawater. I stumble upright, glaring at Eudoxia over my shoulder.
She shrugs, mouth slanted in a not-quite apologetic smile. “Would you rather struggle for eternity?”
I shrug the bag off my shoulders, ready to don my dress and sandals.
She lingers at the foot of the steps. Opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Good luck.”
Nodding, I shoo her away.
She swims a pace away. I bite my lip, mulling over my words.
“Eudoxia,” I say.
She turns.
“Thank you.” I motion to her stomach. “I wish you luck also.”
The words are awkward even as they leave my mouth.
But she smiles and shakes her head. Then dips beneath the surface.
And I’m alone.
The dress warms my chilled skin. The
sandals are smooth and soft now that I’ve worn them multiple times. The shoulder pins settle. My hands shake on the sandal laces.
Noises swarm in my head. My panting breaths. My thudding heart. The gulls and relentless waves.
One step, I urge my feet. Just one.
My mother’s voice. Carry on.
I suck in a deep breath and begin the climb.
Chapter 10
MY DRESS STICKS TO my damp legs. I stop every other step to pull the cloth free from tangling around my calves.
One step. Another. My breath comes in labored gasps. Hadn’t this been a small hill from the sea?
By the time I reach the archway at the top of the hill, my legs scream in pain. The air thins up here. Barely enough for my heaving lungs.
I lean against the archway. Tilt my head back against the cool stone and close my eyes. Just a moment of rest. Only a moment.
Exhaustion weighs me down. I fall but can’t tell if this is a figment of a dream or real. Growling penetrates the quiet. I curl tight, arms clenched around myself. My mind clears halfway from the fog of sleep. The growling fades.
I can return home to rest. I can still turn back.
Home. Such a simple word to mean such a complicated place. Home is my mother and my mother is gone.
Moist breath bears down on my front. The scent of rotting meat invades my nose until I taste it on my tongue. A snarl rips through the air, then a yelp.
The bitter smell of volcanic ash. And I’m back beneath, near an underwater vent where the smell, the taste, streams freely through my senses.
Eyes snapping open, I grasp at the stone with hands made unsteady from panic. No seawater encasing me. Cool air caresses my skin. The sky above, stone beneath, and green grass running across the hill.
I lean more heavily into the stone. The ash smell invades again.
A cloud of shadow lingers beyond the width of the stairs. Its coils move like the tentacles of an octopus—graceful and effortless. A pair of silver eyes emerge from the shadows, never blinking.
“Go on,” a feminine voice rasps. “Cerberus draws close.”
I whip my head around. No Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guards Nekros. The breath, that yelp—did this shadow creature chase the beast away?
“Did you,” I begin.
But the shadow folds into itself one elegant coil at a time. When one remains, the eyes vanish. The remaining coil catches on the wind and dissolves into nothing more than a lingering scent of ash.
“Go,” the same voice whispers.
I inhale a shaking breath. Push myself off the archway with trembling hands.
Vicious creatures etched into the stone watch. The three-headed Cerberus, teeth bared. I imagine all three heads snarling, drool dripping from gaping maws of teeth.
A trio of winged women, their features distorted until they barely resemble women at all. Their wings are not feathered, instead resembling leather. Wing bones arch into a single point at the top and a whole web of points at the bottom. Bat wings.
Shivering, I rub my arms and walk through the archway one tentative step at a time. I can’t linger any longer. There’s no telling how long until Cerberus appears again.
I glance back once to a view of the sea in all directions. Though the sky above prepares for a storm, the sea below remains calm.
There’s no going back. Not without my mother.
I point my stare forward. A cave plummets down into the center of a wide hole of packed dirt. The walls are lined with the same stone as the stairs, casting all but a single pace ahead in impenetrable gloom. A narrow set of stairs leads into the darkness.
This will lead me to Nekros and then to Hades, king of the dead.
I’m used to cages made of stone. The confinement of one more doesn’t matter. I repeat both to myself when I take my first step. Then another.
There’s nothing to be seen through the darkness. I settle each foot carefully before moving the other. Falling down these stairs could mean death.
Without the sun as my guide, I lose track of time. There’s no telling where the stairs end or if they ever end at all.
Will I walk within this tunnel forever? Will my legs be the first to give out or my mind?
Heart stuttering, I wipe sweating palms against my dress. Sweat pours down my spine.
What was I thinking going on this quest? Why didn’t Eudoxia stop me?
No! This won’t be for nothing. I must bargain with Hades. Soon. There’s no telling how his mood will sour once his queen, Persephone, leaves with the coming spring to join her mother in the distant city of Athansi.
Maybe it’s simple luck that my feet reach a landing. Perhaps it’s a trick of this underground place: my mind decides, therefore the end appears. I don’t know. There’s no one waiting in the torchlight of the landing to ask.
I plod on, each step heavier than the last, and use the cave walls to support myself. They’re blessedly cool against my sweating skin.
Sighing, I stop to catch my breath. Chilled air, dim light, and the rush of water.
Water?
Creeping around a bend in the tunnel, I thrust my head forward to peek at what lies ahead.
The tunnel becomes a cave with impossibly darker stone. The space brightens with torches and lanterns strewn across the walls. The cavern is massive. The few walls are far away, and some not in seeing distance at all.
I gaze upward, expecting a low-hanging ceiling of stone. Instead, a night sky stretches far above, ink-black and dotted with winking stars.
This is Nekros? Where are the monsters, souls, and dangers at each turn?
Eyes adjusting, I finally spot the source of the water noise. Running straight through the cavern is a river. The river Styx! Just like my Aunt’s stories. It’s the river all souls must traverse to truly rest in the afterlife.
A boat sits at the river edge. Both ends taper into curved points like the horns of a monster. Souls gather on the gravel shoreline, stepping slowly toward a bridge dropped to cross the short distance between river and boat.
I stumble over a lip on the cavern floor.
The souls turn. Men, women, and children. I trip back. The bend covers the view of the cavern. Covers the sight of souls so eager to change their path toward one of the living.
“Halt,” a man’s voice says. Deep and sure.
I inhale. Peeking around the bend yet again. Then gasp when the movement puts me face to face with a woman. Her face is both solid and made of fog at the same time. My mind aches from the distortion.
She turns and trudges back toward the boat in a shuffling gait.
I creep forward. Surely I’m safe if someone stopped the souls from—what? Devouring me? Killing me? Souls can do neither. They’re only curious.
All at once, blood rushes into my cheeks, leaving my face burning hot.
I approach the boat, keeping to the back of the line. It’s best to observe how, exactly, the man who controls the boat likes his business done.
The child’s soul in front of me mumbles to himself. Small, tiny snippets of what he might have said in life. Mother and figs. Please and no.
When his turn to cross the boardwalk comes, he lifts his hand. He pulls a golden coin from beneath his tongue. He stretches it toward the boat.
I half expect the boat to be sentient. There isn’t any sign of the man whose voice sounded earlier. But the shadows of the curved ends twist. A man pulls free. He wears gray pants and a thick black tunic cinched at the hip with a belt made of gleaming bronze. Shifting lines are etched into the metal: a boat gliding across a twisting river.
Strangest of all are his hands. Black crawls from his fingertips, stopping with a radiating tangle of thin lines just above his elbows. Or maybe strangest of all is how he doesn’t notice me until the child is across the bridge.
And I finally notice his face as he notices me at all.
I marvel at how young he looks; not far off from my own age of eighteen, though I know as a possible-god he cou
ld be older than the original sirens.
Though his face is composed of chiseled cheekbones and pale skin, this doesn’t matter. What matters are his eyes. They are twin storms of grey-blue set deep into his face. Fierce like miniature storms whirl within.
My skin heats when he appraises me from my feet to the crown of my head. A prickle of unease. Sweat beads on the back of my neck. A droplet slithers down my spine. I shiver, placing one foot onto the bridge.
“May I come along?” I ask, bowing my head to avoid his gaze.
He reaches for my hand, clenched into a fist at my side. His fingers taper into a sharp set of claws.
Yet when his fingers touch mine, they’re gentle. Fleeting. The sleek slide of a single claw. The warmth of his skin. He grips my hand and pulls. I stumble along until the solid bridge becomes the sway of the boat.
“You are alive,” he says. His voice is a monotone but I catch a hint of awe buried deep.
“I am.” I pause, chewing on my bottom lip. “My name is Agathe. I have no coin.”
“Agathe.” He enunciates clearly. Softly. “The living need no coin.”
I can’t suppress a shiver. He notices, following the goosebumps stippling across my skin. I doubt he misses anything with a stare like his.
A moment of quiet settles between us.
He sighs, gusting the fringe of black hair off his forehead. “I’m Charon, the ferryman of Nekros and the river Styx.”
“Charon,” I mumble.
He bows his head in a formal nod but says nothing else.
The boat lurches to life the moment I sit on a bench between the child soul from earlier and a towering man no less intimidating in death. There are no oars. No sails. Still, the boat glides effortlessly along the murky green river.
“You’ll go to the judges,” Charon says. He leans precariously to the side to look into the river depths, enough that I wonder if he’ll fall overboard. Yet somehow I know he won’t. He is the controller of this boat. It won’t let him fall.
“Me?” I ask.
“No. The living go to Hades himself.” He straightens, watching the souls sitting stiffly along the benches. “The rest of you. The dead.”
“What do these judges do?”
