And then she disappears.
My throat is dry and I take a shaky breath. I am safe. I am not being hauled back to my parents. The flower’s petals tickle the edge of my cheek and, though I know Styx will not be able to keep me safe, it feels like she could – at the very least it is kinship and companionship and I ache with how much I’ve missed that. A whole life on an island so focused on what I lacked I never thought about what I had: companionship, friendship, love.
Before my fear can morph into sadness and before the tears escape, I start following the river, not quite running but definitely moving like if I walk quick enough my feelings might be left behind.
The soil beneath my feet thrums in welcome and slowly my anxieties fade. At home, nature feels comforting. Here, it is celebratory, like it’s thrilled I’m finally here. There are other nature deities in the courts of Olympus and Oceanus but clearly none in the Underworld. I focus on the feeling and blossoms spring where I step.
I’m not walking long before I see another river trickling to meet the Styx, its waters twisting like mist. As I get closer any sense of it being water at all feels wrong.The Lethe. The river of forgetting.
It pulls like a magnet, beckoning me closer through soft whispers and a gentle tug.
I step back. This river is even more dangerous than the dark waters of the Styx.
I scan the horizon for any sign of how far the rivers might run but I can’t see an end. The Lethe is not wide where it cutsacross my path, more of a stream. I don’t know how potent it is. One drop of it might be enough to pull my memories from me.
Before I can think it through further, I run and soar across it in one bounding leap.
Reckless. Impossibly reckless.
But I’d do it again if it gets me where I want to go.
On the other side, the asphodel is thick and above it rolls a hazy grey mist.
Suddenly, I am knocked off my feet. Images flash across my mind – and then more than just pictures: sounds and smells and emotions. It’s like I’m actually there, slamming my hand on the wood of a table, my voice rising above others as they fall quiet. Then the shouting continues and I’m left with the impression of an explosive clamour of noise like someone else has shoved the feeling into my brain.
I jump up, sickle in hand.
And there’s a human.
A dead one, obviously, hazy and insubstantial like Tempest but worse. This human’s life source isn’t slowly replenishing like hers but fading. All that is left of his life is a sense of noise. A politician maybe, or a lawyer. A lot of time spent somewhere loud and chaotic.
He staggers forward aimlessly before slowly straightening, a scowl appearing on his lips.
He must have walked through me. That’s why the memories were so strong.
If I concentrate, I can tune back into them. I see rows of people slowly becoming clearer.
It’s me, I realize. My divine presence is giving this human more life than he has had before – at least in this realm.
I turn and run before his pull on my power goes too far, but even when I get further away my skin is covered in goosebumps. I have never experienced that before – other people’s memories, whole lives, felt first-hand. But I wanted to know the world and what better way than seeing it through those who lived there?
And then I realize – that’s no mist in front of me at all. It’s humans, gathered like herds of cattle and wandering aimlessly. They stretch as far as I can see, grey and hazy. Part of me feels like if I step near them I’ll start disappearing too.
But a bigger part of me is desperate to reach forward, to be among them, to learn of their lives.
I steady myself for a moment, and then I plunge in among them.
Salt spray on my lips, rough waters scratching at my hands, rope digging into the soft flesh but always the horizon, always the promise of possibility.
Soft skin against every inch of my own, my mind spinning, so much longing to be closer, needing to be closer.
Hunger gnawing at my gut, too weak to lift myself up, insects biting at my skin.
Blood on my hands, power surging through me, satisfaction unfurling on my lips, my muscles bending to my will, unstoppable as people fall like trees before me.
Blood on my hands, pressed to my stomach, suddenly empty, my whole body caved in two and I’m desperate, dying but desperate to know whether my baby survived.
Blood on my hands but it doesn’t stop the fists from raining down on me. I’m choking on my own teeth. There’s so much red.
