Chapter Seven

“Is the Head Reaper alive?

Does he not care for the deaths of his own innocent people?”

—HermesHarbinger.com, December 5th

We arrived at our destination as the morning sun, its full fire still hidden behind the sky swirling with souls, began to rise over the mountain peaks. Coloradans bragged that their state got more than three hundred days of sunshine a year. I was hopeful that as Stygians, we’d benefit from that seemingly endless sunlight. It would be nice to see the sun for once. But, true to our motto—The Sun Shall Never Shine Upon Styx—there were souls clouding the sky above, never letting us see that big ball of light. They were the souls of the dead, headed for Lethe and their final journey.

As daybreak gradually spilled over the cliffs, I became aware of the scenery and the course we had taken to get here. At some point, we had turned off the Million Dollar Highway and onto a dirt road. This road was narrower than the ones we had traveled earlier in the night. The cliffs that flanked us were even steeper.

Perhaps arriving in the darkest hours was for the best.

Surrounding us were lofty, vertical mountains with jagged outcrops of snow. While the mountains in Montana were wide and proud, these mountains were cramped and domineering. They felt more like narrow gray city skyscrapers rising toward the soul-cloudy heavens.

This place was beautiful. But even this gorgeousness felt like a tomb.

“We’ll climb.” Neema pointed to a set of near vertical stairs carved out of the side of the rock.

“Say what?” Delia’s voice broke.

“We’ll climb. Up.”

Delia and I, who were the most concerned, gave the stairs a more in-depth inspection. I had previously thought them nearly vertical. Upon my reassessment, they were vertical. They had to be. Was this a joke? Did people really climb them? Did they fall? Oh Hades, if they fell, death would be guaranteed.

“Is there another way?” I asked.

“Up.” Neema climbed two or three stairs to show us on the off chance that we hadn’t encountered stairs before. Her demonstration didn’t put me at ease. There was no handrail. Just extreme stairs barely wide enough for your entire foot.

Neema snickered. “We’ll go through the mountain, Scrivener. You’re so gullible.”

“Oh, thank Hades,” Delia said, her hand to her chest.

When I looked over my shoulder at Papa and Nicodemus, I could’ve sworn that they, too, were relieved, even if they wouldn’t admit to it.

“Half-death?” I put the idea out there because it was always best to know these things ahead of time. Neema grabbed my hand, and that little gesture answered my question. Delia scooped up Dudley and stepped toward Neema. When Nicodemus sidled toward Papa, it was obvious that Papa had some serious concerns.

“I’ll stay out here,” Papa said.

“No, Papa.”

“I’m too big. I’ll wait here.” Papa folded his arms over his chest as if to protect it or hide the beat of his racing heart.

“We won’t leave you here. Please.”

He was stubborn as could be. That was my Papa. But I was just as stubborn, and he knew it. I would not go to meet Xiangu—the only Stygian who could save my life—without him by my side. I didn’t have to beg him—he saw it in my face.

“This half-death…how does it work?” Papa asked Nicodemus who, as an Eidolon, was the only one of our group who could half-death another Stygian.

The old man smiled wide through his thick beard. “We hold hands, of course.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said. If I were lucky, Papa would have a chance to tell me how I lured him into the excruciating experience of being ferried through bedrock. You know, if I didn’t die first.

With collective deep breath, Neema, Delia, and I were the first to step onto those steep, awful stairs. A flash of terror ripped through me when I saw an image of Neema dragging me up the stairs against my will, me flailing over the edge, screaming. Instead, blackness overcame me like it had when we were Matched in combat. I couldn’t see, breathe, smell, or hear because I was inside a vacuum, one that kicked around ghastly images and spine-chilling feelings. I focused on something happy to carry me through this discomfort. For some reason, the thought of Dudley fetching his tennis ball in the park by my apartment in Quebec City surfaced like it was the go-to memory of all memories, the one that would assuredly overcome any bit of pain or darkness. And it worked. The image of Dudley’s happy moment eased me through the experience. As convenient as this means of travel was, it was something that I wished to avoid whenever possible.

On the other side of this half-death misery, which ended as fast as it started, I blinked my eyes to find us standing underneath a wooden pergola with a red upturned roof and round columns. Flowers and greenery wrapped around the pergola as if to share that this structure had been around a long time. A set of stairs sat behind the pergola, but unlike the steep, never-ending stairs rising out of the tomb of mountains, this one led to a small wading pool cluttered with pink and white lotuses.

Had we traveled across the earth to China? Was the skill of half-death that powerful, or was I in an alternate reality?

I remembered to breathe, and my lungs filled with energy.

“This is Acheron,” Neema said. “The River of Pain.”

“It’s the river of the ferryman, according to Greek mythology,” Nicodemus said as he and Papa moved out of the mountain. Papa shook Nicodemus’s hand free. Hades forbid he be seen holding the old Eidolon’s hand.

Neema gave him a pointed gaze. She didn’t like being corrected.

“Humans pay Charon to cross them over the River Acheron, according to the Greeks.” Nicodemus walked toward the pergola. He looked at it as if he had seen it before. Knowing his long history, that was possible.

“I thought they crossed the River Styx—that’s why we call our world Styx,” Delia said, and I nodded in agreement. “Right?”

“Mythology is passed down in as many ways. The River Styx of mythology sprang from the Acheron. Acheron is the river on which the ferryman rides.” Nicodemus stuffed his hands in the pockets of his thick grey robe. “But it’s just a technicality.”

Knowing that we were standing in a place known for crossing the dead over, even if just in stories, I became unsettled. And Neema had called it the River of Pain, so I made a mental note not to swim in or drink the Acheron’s waters.

Couldn’t something about this journey evoke just a sliver of hope?

We climbed the four stairs separating the pergola from the pond. Oak trees with long, sagging branches hung over us like a blanket. The Acheron was beautiful and serene, two things I wished I carried inside of my own heart.

“I must see our Master first,” Neema moved around the pond.

Before she stepped behind a veil of green hedges, I called out, “You said a test.” I tried to mask my nerves. “Any idea what that might be?”

“Probably a test of your mental strength. A test of your intentions, like I said. Are you good or bad?” Neema paused to stare down at the lotus blossoms in the water. “You wear a lotus on your neck.”

“I wear it for a friend.” A friend whom I promised to save and would.

I put my fingers to the necklace I had worn since my friend Eve Cassidy had died. I had carried Eve’s soul in the lotus pendant for so long that I didn’t think about it like I once had. She was no longer the human friend I had adored. She was a memory whose face faded more and more as time passed. Had Eve passed me on the street today, I feared I wouldn’t recognize her. But had Eve’s soul left the lotus pendant, I would’ve known.

Two years ago, a Reaper named Nicholas Baird had killed Eve and had only half-ferried her soul out of her body before Brent and I interrupted him. In my grief and rage, I’d branded him with a Deathmark using only my bare hands and the pure energy in them—the first time my Master Scrivener powers had surfaced. At that point, he’d run off and pretty much vanished.

Since the Stygian natural order of things meant that only the Reaper who’d started ferrying her soul could finish the job, Eve had been doomed to a bleak half-life existence, anchored to her dead body, unable to move away from it, to talk, to feel. But then, Brent had used his Eidolon powers to transfer her soul’s anchor from her body to my lotus pendant. Now, I just carried my only human friend’s half-ferried soul with me, next to my heart. She couldn’t communicate with me, but she was still a comfort—until I could find Nicholas Baird and make him finish the job and send her to Elysia. She’d been a good person. There was no way she was going anywhere but Elysia.

Neema gave a slight nod. She disappeared behind the hedges, leaving the five of us alone, observing the beauty of the Acheron. Questions floated silently aloft between us. But none of us cared to or felt the need to speak them. Nothing that could be said now was worth the air from our lungs. Either this would end well for me, or it would not. What was clear was that this was the end of the road: I would either leave the shores of the Acheron intact, or I wouldn’t.

I watched the lotus flowers sitting on top of the water’s surface. They didn’t move. There was no air. Everything was so still, I could hear my heartbeat.

Brent was on the other side of that mountain waiting in agony to honor his job as a citizen of Styx. If his energy returned, he could break from my mental and physical binds, half-death himself through the mountain, and get me. I was not entirely convinced that my reach still kept him in check. I had no choice but to trust that my power did what I asked it to do, but there was no guarantee, no promise.

Neema returned almost too quickly, and her presence ripped me away from agonizing over what could be. I told myself this was good news. Had Master Xiangu desired not to see me, Neema would’ve grabbed my hand and ferried us back through the mountain.

Neema approached me, her face emotionless. She stopped a foot away.

“Well?” Delia said because I couldn’t.

“Master Xiangu will see Dormier.”
Delia and Papa let out little cheers. Nicodemus even made a jubilant noise. But hot anxiety slithered down my throat and pooled in my stomach.

It’s happening. This is my only—last chance. But there’s one person I must protect…

“I want Xiangu to pardon Brent first,” I demanded.

Neema cracked a little smile. “You don’t get to decide what Master Xiangu does with him.”

“Then we’re not going any further.”

“Last I checked, Dormier, you have a Deathmark on your arm. You don’t have leverage against Master Xiangu.”

She was right. I had no true leverage against Xiangu and her followers. I would do everything I could to save Brent. But in this moment when I had to make a snap decision, I had to trust my judgment. I would have to convince Master Xiangu to help me and then Brent.

This made me sick inside. I would have rather died than see him hurt. The idea made me feel selfish.

But I would have to do it.

To save Brent, I had to save myself first.

“You need to go now. And you’ll go alone.” Neema pointed at the hedges where she had vanished a moment earlier. She carried a weight in her voice that worried me. Then again, like any servant to her master, she was propagating the attitude that her master was to be feared. Master Xiangu wasn’t my equal. She was more. She was a Goddess who had been a Master Scrivener for centuries. I had only matured into my Masterhood in the past few months. I was a baby in comparison. Neema wanted to remind me of that. Be humble. Be respectful, Neema seemed to say without speaking.

I turned to give my allies a forced smile. Each looked as worried as the next. I pretended that they smiled back before I forged ahead to meet with the one Stygian who could save me from Death or hurry me along to it—the one whom I knew wouldn’t hand over a future without my earning it.

I rubbed the lotus pendant as I walked through the hedges, weaving in and out of overgrown branches jutting in the path. Dotting the greenery were baby pink flowers that winked at me as I passed by. On the path, smooth pebbles caressed my tired feet. It was unmistakable how the air grew thicker and more fragrant with flowers and life as I walked toward salvation.

Neema had called the Acheron the river of pain, but as I walked beside it, I felt it like a presence, calming me. I wondered why people feared death. If this was what waited for us on the journey between life and the Afterlife, I had to believe that the journey was a gift.

I turned around to get one last glimpse at my friends and Papa, but the hedges and flowers hid them. A part of me was sad that I couldn’t see them now. They were not far away, yet they still felt a million miles from me. And it was then that I understood that even with friends and family by our sides, some journeys are meant to be completed alone.

And boy, I was alone, here in paradise.

It seemed as though I walked a full mile before I reached the end of the tunnel of hedges and pink flowers. The pebbles on the path gave way to a circle of plush, soft grass. Tree branches dipped over the circle. Purple and yellow flowers hung from the ends of the branches. I wanted to reach up and touch the flowers, possibly smell them, too.

I stopped on the edge of the circle. Sitting on the opposite side in black robes, silken black hair twisted into a bun, dark eyes locked on me, was the Master Scrivener I had been seeking for weeks. She was as stunning as I had imagined her to be.

I didn’t know how to address her or if I should wait until she spoke. Neema had said I would be tested. I dropped to my knees, rested my hands in my lap, and bowed my head. In many ways, this was all I could stand to do, for I was exhausted and weary. My heart and head and body ached. Death would be welcome if it were handed to me now because I wasn’t even certain I could recover from everything I had endured.

What kept me going was that I had made promises to so many people—Papa, Mama, Eve, Brent, Delia. Most importantly, I had made a promise to myself. I couldn’t let Olivia down. Not yet.

But I was tired. Oh Hades, so tired.

Tears surfaced before I could do anything to stop them. They fell loosely and freely down my cheeks. It took everything I had not to let my chest and shoulders heave as I quietly sobbed. I had to break down before this Master Scrivener, to tell her my story from beginning to end. I needed her to understand and to show me compassion. I needed her forgiveness because I was still struggling to forgive myself for all the havoc I had kicked up in two long years.

Her black robes brushed my knees, and I looked through glassy tears to see her staring down at me. Trapped inside my own grief, I hadn’t seen or heard her move. Maybe it was silly to look inward at this moment. Maybe she would chide me for it.

Master Xiangu knelt in front of me. After observing me for a moment, she put her fingers to my chin. Her eyes, those pools of darkness, stared into me, reading my emotions. I didn’t dare look away, but I didn’t dare challenge her either.

“I know you,” she said in a soft, delicate voice. “I saw you in a dream.”

I struggled to remain silent, offering the type of respect I felt was appropriate. But I gazed upon this Scrivener. Age had formed lines of wisdom around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. But age didn’t take her beauty. Xiangu owned her magnificence.

Unlike Errol or Marin or even Brent, Xiangu carried a charisma that was more extraordinary than I had ever known. Being in her company felt like a rare gift. I suppose this is why I couldn’t help it when I began to speak through my tears.

“I’ve made a mess of things,” I confessed. “I tried to save one person, and the whole world came crashing down. Had I known… Had I been able to see this mess…”

She reached a hand into the waters of the Acheron and pulled out a pure white cloth. She wrung it out, then wiped my brow with it as a loving mother might, as Mama would’ve. As I’d suspected, I felt no pain when the water touched me. It was soothing. “You speak as if any other path would’ve been better than the one you’ve chosen.”

“The point is that I chose this one, and too many people have died because of what I’ve done. The guilt is too much.” My left hand was covering my right forearm where the Deathmark resided, and I didn’t realize this until I looked down to avert Xiangu’s gaze.

“Then you aren’t here to heal your Deathmark?”

“No. I’m here to remove it because…” I had to stop and think.

Was my will to live going to abandon me now? Maybe due to exhaustion. Sometimes we can’t continue to climb that mountain no matter how important it is to reach the top. Throwing up our hands and walking away is a choice that feels like a victory in its own right, even if it means ending the dream. I was staring into the black eyes of my mountain peak and I wanted to give up. I wanted to ask her to help me cross over so that I wouldn’t have to go back to the mess that I had left in my careless wake.

The Acheron. It isn’t the River of Pain. It’s the River of Acceptance—of one’s death.

I’m not ready.

Her hand fell away from my chin and rested in her lap. I shook my head to clear it and stared at her fingers lying flat on top of the black robe. There was an urge to grab her hands and beg. I wanted to scream, Listen to me and the hell I’ve been through. Help me, please. Help me find a way out of this.

I chose to focus on the creases of her interlaced fingers as I wondered if she had tattoos herself, perhaps even at one time a Deathmark of her own. How I would’ve loved to have been bestowed a Deathmark less grim than the skull. A peacock feather was far more pleasant to wear in the face of death.

“I want to make things right,” I said after many long, quiet minutes. “If that means I need this Deathmark healed, then yes, I am here for that very reason. If I cannot make a wrong right, then let this mark run its course.”

Xiangu rose to her feet. She did not back away or begin a speech about the reasons we shouldn’t give up on ourselves in the darkest of moments. As she remained silent, I chose not to look up from the bottom seam of her robe that fanned out over the grass, covering her feet entirely. Did she have feet? Did she float?

But something called me to eventually turn my attention upward and gaze upon the Master Scrivener. Before I did, I wiped the tears away with the heels of my hands. I blinked until my eyes focused on the Master standing above me.

Who I saw was not Master Xiangu, though.

I blinked several more times. This person could not be standing before me here in Xiangu’s territory, could she?

My heartrate quickened. Incredulity held my tongue for only a moment and then, then I stuttered, “E-Eve?”