Interitum

by M. K. Matsuda

  With Somboon at her side, Sloane steps out into a dense forest, where all kinds of trees span as far as the eye can see. The warm, damp smell of dirt floods her head. Many trees are redwoods, with thick trunks that stretch up high to create an elegant canopy that’s as tall as the cavern in Aquae. There are trees of every other breed as well, bringing with them every kind of bark, leaf, and root imaginable. Vines hang from above, and thick waxy leaves wave amongst curving buttress roots. Nearby, a palm tree and a pine sit together like old friends. Rich soil compacts under Sloane’s feet as she turns to get the panorama view. The sunlight penetrating the foliage overhead casts a green light on everything. Some dwellings are carved into the bases of the giant trunks, emanating warm glows through the windows.

  A young woman with charcoal-edged eyes and narrow features approaches. The golden sequins of her lavender sari compliment her olive skin. A strap traces across her chest, securing a leather pad on one of her shoulders. Sloane notices that her long curly hair and eyes are the same shade of endless black as Erim’s. Her smile is warm as she approaches and gives a minor bow to Somboon, which he returns. She reaches out to shake Sloane’s hand. “Welcome to Arborum, Sloane. I’m Soul Keeper Aditi.” Her voice is soft but steady. “Bastian and our astray soul are already at the egress. It is deeper into the wood. We Arborians usually travel through the canopy, but we can remain here on the floor if you prefer.”

  Sloane’s gaze is drawn up to where the true terrarum lies, perched just below the tree canopy. Treehouses and bungalows cling to the wide trunks above, strung together by rope bridges. There’s a distant movement of people, dwarfed like ants by the height of the trees.

  “Heights don’t bother me,” Sloane says.

  Aditi nods. “That’s what we like to hear.” She leads them over to a large trunk with wide branches that form steps spiraling up the length of the tree. As the trio winds up the stairs, the ground stretches out beneath them, allowing Sloane to see farther into the vast forest. The trees are patterned in a way that makes it impossible to tell if the dwellings were orchestrated perfectly around them or the trees were bent to the designer’s will.

  Sloane notices a flying white shape above, keeping pace with them up in the trees. As they reach the top platform, Aditi’s creatura swoops down on an impressive wingspan and lands gently on her shoulder pad, its make-shift perch. It turns its heart-shaped face towards Sloane, looking at her quizzically with big dark eyes. It’s not a falcon, as Sloane thought. “This is Socrates,” Aditi says as the barn owl ruffles its sandy wings.

  Once they reach the top platforms, Sloane is met with an intricate maze of treehouses and bungalows, each with its own appealing ruggedness. Children play roughly on the expansive platforms; no one is the least bit concerned by the height. Wide trunks are hollowed to form gathering spaces. The concentric rings marking the tree’s age are polished within the floors, shiny by years of wear. Aditi leads Sloane and Somboon from tree to tree across the footbridges that sway slightly in the breeze.

  They come to a point overlooking a patch where the trees below are packed so tightly together, it creates a rolling sea of leaves. “I’ll take us down from here,” Aditi says. Socrates lifts off with a single wing beat and circles down into the green below. A wave of Aditi’s hand brings three vines snaking down from the branches, each curling into a small loop on the platform. Sloane slips her foot into the loop and secures her grasp on the sinewy vine, as Somboon demonstrates. “Hold on,” Aditi advises, twisting her fingers in direction. The branches lift, raising them off the platform and out into the open sky, a dizzying feeling so high up. As the vines give and lower them slowly, Sloane watches Socrates lace back and forth, expertly navigating around each limb. Aditi’s expert touch bends thicker branches away from their vertical path. The wood creaks and groans, but it sounds more like begrudging grumbles than a genuine strain on the wood. Sloane’s feet meet the ground gently, and the vines slink up to return to their treetops.

  Aditi beckons toward the wall of trees before them. Each trunk is skinny and bleached. “It’s just through here.” As they navigate through the cluster, the trees become closer and closer together.

  “Egresses are saturated with the element of the terrarum,” Somboon mentions as he weaves through the labyrinth. Past the tightest bundle, the trees open to form a pocket of space. A small group of people is waiting, two women and two men. Behind them lies a massive redwood stump, hollowed out into a wooden crater.

  Somboon smiles as the people approach. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “We couldn’t resist meeting the new one.” The young woman sweeps towards Sloane with a dazzling smile. Her hazel eyes are striking, a few shades lighter than her dark skin. They accent her full lips, which resemble two pink rose petals.

  “Sloane, allow me to acquaint you with Ifede, Arc of Nivis.”

  “It’s so nice to finally have another girl.” She pulls Sloane into a hug, burying her in a black explosion of tiny coils that move with a life of their own. Sloane feels a round mass between them, and when Ifede pulls back, Sloane realizes the green frills of her shirt camouflaged her enormous pregnant belly. She wears her rounded abdomen like an accessory, intensifying her curves in all the right places. Peeking out from behind Ifede’s legs are two big blue eyes and tufty pointed ears. Sloane tries to get a better look at the big cat, a Lynx, but he slinks behind Ifede, uninterested in an introduction. “Don’t mind Padapaw. He’s very shy.” She speaks with an accent similar to Dmitri’s, but her beauty reminds Sloane of Sofia. She steps back without any cumbersome pregnancy waddle; her steps are light and quick.

  “And here is Kostya, Arc of Stellarum.” Sloane recognizes him. He’s the one Erim tried to get to evict her. He steps forward, the idyllic image of Santa Claus bringing with him the sweet, homey scent of rum. He looks the oldest of the leaders, but it’s likely misleading given everyone’s deceiving youth. A round brown shape occupies his arms, a dozing bear cub that blends perfectly into the softness of his sweater. He didn’t see Sloane at her best the first time they met, but he doesn’t look like the type to hold it against her.

  “Nice to see you again,” Sloane says with an intentional smile.

  “Most welcome, most welcome,” he whispers, nodding furiously. A faint whistle accompanies each “s” sound, created by the gap between his front teeth.

  The second man steps right up to her. “Best for last, eh, Somboon?” Sloane looks up at the tower of masculinity in her way. He’s tall with scruffy, straw blonde hair peeking out from under his worn leather outback hat. His eyes are electric blue, a vivid change from the charcoal gaze of the Soul Keepers. He has a long straight nose and square chin, ruggedly but undeniably handsome. He’s lean but well built, his thick neck wrapped with a shark tooth necklace.

  “And of course, this is Bastian, Arc of this terrarum.” Somboon’s introduction is too late for Bastian’s taste. His hands are outstretched, presenting himself proudly.

  “Melburnian, born again Arborian.” Short creases sprout from the outer edges of his eyes, and shallow smile lines encircle his lips. They are so slight that Sloane might not have even noticed them on Earth, but with the unnatural flawlessness of the Soul Keepers, they’re more distinct. Bastian looks Sloane up and down in a way that makes her step back. He tips his hat with a grin, flaunting the kind of charm mothers warn their daughters about.

  There’s a wallaby next to the stump, leaning forward on powerful hind legs, small hands curled up at its chest. Bastian throws back a thumb towards his marsupial companion. “My boy Ringo,” he says. The final woman steps forward. Her posture is timid behind the others, isolating her from them. “And this here’s Donna.” His heavy Australian accent makes the woman’s name sound more like Santa’s eighth reindeer. The woman is elderly, with more prominent wrinkles, light brown hair, and faded beryl eyes. “According to our roster, she’s not quite done on Earth yet. We’re aiming to get her back to her family.”

  “The t
ime and manner of death for each person is predetermined,” Somboon explains. “There is a roster of people due to arrive each day. We are called to souls that are not on the list. Those souls are astray, having left the world prematurely or not in the manner they were meant to.”

  “Ready to get home, little lady?” Bastian asks, holding out his hand to help Donna into the crater. She beams at him as she sits down. Bastian glances up at Sloane, a grin stretching across his face. “Why not let the newbie try?”

  “Oh no, I’ll just watch.” Sloane steps back.

  Bastian slides towards her. “Come on, you’ve already done one. What’s one more?”

  “What if something goes wrong?” Sloane asks incredulously, looking at Donna.

  “No better learning than on the job.” Bastian pulls her into the crater. “And there’s only one direction these souls can go. You can’t mess it up too bad.” Sloane looks around at the others for help, but they all seem curious enough not to stop Bastian’s barrage.

  “I’ll try.” She yanks her arm free from him as he flashes his teeth and gives her a rough pat on the back. Sloane kneels next to Donna. Her fists clench, trying to recall her hand placement on Ches.

  “Each Arc’s technique is different,” Somboon says, “do whatever feels natural.”

  A faint magnetism draws Sloane’s bandaged hands to Donna’s forehead and shoulder. She closes her eyes and zeros in on their connection points. She can feel the energy flowing like water through Donna’s abdomen, swirling around in her limbs. But there’s something unsettled, like invisible strings, tugging at the energy to come away.

  “You’re doing great,” Donna whispers. Sloane opens her eyes to see her smiling up at her. “Thank you for this.” She reaches up to clasp Sloane’s hand, her eyes misty. “I’m just so grateful for a second chance.”

  Something bubbles up in Sloane’s chest, a little nausea and a giddy sort of anxiety. Her skin prickles. Heat spreads to the tip of every finger like warmed by the sun.

  Quiet at first, a hollow, whooshing sound swirls into Sloane’s ears, Donna’s energy thrumming with power. Sloane feels her own ramp up, the hum rising to harmonize.

  Then, the bubbling is sparked like gasoline with a match, and the power explodes, shooting down her arms like the barrels of guns. Draining out of her chest, a chill wiping through her veins. Donna’s gone. Sloane didn’t see her go, but she felt the energy give way to the pull of the Earth, whisked away in a moment. She leans over, her hand reaches out to slow her slump to the ground. It is silent again. She felt ghosts of the same sensations during Ches’s eviction, but they were muted by the stress and confusion.

  Bastian towers over her, staring down with detached amusement. “Well, now, you almost did that prettier than me.”

  “Prettier than an outback cowboy,” Sloane muses, “fantastic.”

  He laughs, confirming that he can’t make a sound that isn’t saturated with arrogance. “That’s Mr. Officer Outback Cowboy to you, darlin.” He crouches to her level and offers her a small chocolate wafer. “Tim Tam. Too sophisticated a delicacy for you Yanks, but I’m willing to share all the goods…” he lifts his eyebrows, “that Oz has to offer.” Sloane eyes the chocolate pointedly, garnering an eye roll from Bastian. “It’s a little difficult to roofie a Tim Tam, sweetheart. Try it.”

  “Maybe stop looking at the girl like she’s food.” Ifede snaps at him, snatching the Tim Tam out of his hand. Her smile brings some of the warmth back to Sloane’s fingers. “Don’t let him convince you he is interested in anyone more than himself.”

  “Mamacita knows best.” Bastian jumps up and plants a quick peck on Ifede’s cheek. She swats him away with a grin and offers Sloane the chocolate.

  “It’ll help with the exhaustion. Doesn’t have any more energy than a conjured apple, but it certainly tastes better.” Ifede is right, they’re delicious, and Sloane can feel her energy stitching itself back together again.

  Bastian takes his place next to Somboon, crossing his thick, inked arms across his chest. His face remains plastered with a cavalier grin until Preeda leaps onto him, and he freezes. Bastian gasps so roughly he almost chokes and flings his arm, sending Preeda sailing into the air. She lands on Somboon’s shoulder with delicate intention.

  “Somboon, you know how I feel about the rat!” he yells, shaking off his arm. Ringo fidgets worriedly at Bastian’s side. Sloane muffles a chuckle, but Ifede doesn’t seem amused, watching Bastian levelly.

  “Apologies.” Somboon confines Preeda in the swaths of his wrap so that just her twitchy nose pokes out of the orange. Bastian’s face is still twisted with disgust. He shudders and turns into the forest, cursing under his breath.

  “He’s more endearing than he seems,” Ifede says softly, watching him leave. The commotion wakes the bear cub in Kostya’s arms. He makes squeaky grunts and swats thick paws in the air. Kostya bobs him gently and walks towards the opening of the trees. He waves goodbye to Sloane, cooing to calm the cub. “Kostya has the biggest heart of anyone.” Somboon steps forward to the edge of the redwood crater, offering Ifede his hand to rise. Her smile shines up at him. “And, of course, our devoted leader, wisest of us all.” Somboon has a quirk of a smile, shaking his head as Ifede stands. “Fearless until it comes to taking compliments.” She grins.

  “Ego is like dust in the eyes.” Somboon folds his hands. “You can only see the world if it is cleared.”

  “Well, in that case, your eyes are clear as Lake Malawi.” Ifede stands over Somboon, squeezing his shoulder; it forms the misleading silhouette of a mother and child. “Sloane, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Ifede takes Sloane’s hand. “I hope you choose to take up our mantle.” Sloane thanks Ifede, and she takes her leave. Padapaw vanishes into the shadows behind her seamlessly.

  Back in Aquae, Sloane’s gait quickens at the sight of the dormitories, the possibility of sleep. She slows when she notices the tall, dark barricade leaning against the door. Erim straightens when he sees them approaching. His clothes look a little different; maybe his shirt is a dark blue, contrasting slightly from the raven black of his hair. Nim’s glittering white tail is the only clue of her presence. The rest of her sooty body is concealed in the gloom, save the shine of her beady eyes. Somboon greets Erim with a smile. Nim remains seated, flicking her tail back and forth; Sloane is clearly not worth the energy of standing.

  Erim clasps Somboon’s arm. “How was her first day?”

  Sloane dislikes how much he sounds like a parent asking a teacher how their child did on the first day of kindergarten. “Well, The Midst isn’t on fire,” she cuts in.

  “I have never seen a beginner perform an eviction with such ease,” Somboon says. “She may indeed be a powerful Arc. It should not take her long to complete her training if that is her choice.” Erim looks delighted with the prognosis.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Somboon,” Sloane confirms. Somboon sighs gladly, closing with a deep bow. When he’s gone, Sloane turns to Erim. “Don’t suppose you guys offer signing bonuses.”

  “No, but stellar retirement plans.” He remains against the door.

  Sloane leaves a poignant silence to get him to move, but he doesn’t. “No more souls to keep tonight?” she asks.

  “Paperwork’s all done, and I’ve got Neos to receive any incoming souls,” he replies with a smug grin. Sloane can’t tell if he’s joking about the paperwork, but she sighs and concedes. The faster she gets this over with, the quicker she can be in bed. He clears his throat. “So about earlier…”

  “It’s really none of my business,” Sloane cuts him off. She takes a step to go around him.

  “No, there’s no business.” Erim steps forward.

  “Ben seems nice?” Sloane grimaces as it comes out as more of a question.

  Erim snorts at the idea. “Oh no, she’s not.” He sprouts a fond smile. “She’s crass and rude, disagreeable on her best day. She’s more bearable with a cigarette in hand, I think, but we don’t have any real ones
here.” He shrugs like he lost the main point for a moment. “Anyway, we’d never—it’s not….” Erim laughs dryly, not even able to finish.

  His difficulty completing a sentence is enough to convince Sloane, but she pushes a little further. “Why not?”

  Erim looks strained at the idea. “She’s like a sister.”

  “A sister…” Sloane nods curiously.

  “She was just toying with you this morning.” Erim rubs his hands together. “She enjoys making people uncomfortable; it’s how she entertains herself.” He pauses with a glance at her, his eyes begging to put him out of his misery.

  “Well, she’s good,” Sloane says, “she’s even doing it now.”

  “A true evil mastermind.” Erim releases a sigh of exasperated relief. “And she was at the top of her game, probably to impress you.”

  “Impress me?”

  Erim nods. “Think she might have a bit of a crush.”

  Sloane is slow to catch his true meaning, but when she finally does, she chuckles. “Oh, so when she said I was cute, she was—”

  “Very serious.” Erim smiles.

  “How flattering.” Sloane laughs, nudging the dirt under her shoes.

  “You should be more afraid than flattered,” he says. “Ben’s attachment can be relentless.” A peace settles between them, the misunderstanding warmed with humor.

  The next moment Erim looks down, Sloane notices how long his dark eyelashes are. A few raven curls slip over his ears to graze his cheek. She’s about to tell him how tired she is just to break the heavy silence, but he steps forward. The thin crinkles at the edges of his eyes make him look like he’s smiling, even though his lips are relaxed. There’s a subtle pull between his brows like she puzzles him.

  “Hands,” he murmurs. She is pulled out of her study, blinking at him with bewilderment. Her expression gives him a quirk of a smile. “How are your hands?” he clarifies.