Authors: Jonah Hewitt
Chapter Eight
The Bark of Nephys
After all that screaming, the trip back to the necropolis in the skiff seemed eerily silent. The air was still and stagnant, and even the movement of the boat could not seem to stir it. Nephys was in the back, tired, and poling the boat forward. The woman sat dejectedly in the middle, her palms in her lap, her eyes vacant, near catatonic. Her head hung limply to one side, without focus. She had passed from panic, to despair, to outright horror in the space of half an hour. Now she was just numb. Nephys felt it too. Only Hiero seemed to be happy, bouncing lightly on his mismatched feet in the prow. It had been a veritable smorgasbord of negative emotions. Nephys figured Hiero had been well fed on the outburst. It had been a lot of screaming.
“Vicious little imp,” thought Nephys. No wonder he went looking for these souls.
And it was a bit of luck too. Horror was an entirely different feeling than despair. The sound of her screaming had cleared away the approaching shades like a foghorn. Then there was the wreck. Ten minutes into the screaming fit, the tree and wreck had sprung to life. It pulled up its roots, which turned into a giant chicken leg, grew batwing ears and hopped around on the single appendage, a grotesque, metal, tree monster clanging its hood and trunk like a mouth on either end. All that horror had given birth to a monstrous new imp. The sight of that had guaranteed another ten minutes of screaming alone. For a moment, it looked like it might turn on the three of them, but Hiero brandished his knife at it ferociously with honks that sounded suspiciously like “Mine! Mine!” It stormed off and was probably halfway to the wastes on the other side of the swamp by now.
The silence after the screaming was so profound that when she finally spoke it surprised both Nephys and Hiero.
“I had hoped someone would be waiting for me,” she said quietly.
Hiero turned to look back at Nephys and then just snorted dismissively. Nephys grimaced at him, but said nothing.
“It’s not like I was expecting a whole big family reunion or anything,” she said after a while longer.
“Fhwerpan?” Hiero tooted querulously. She paid him no mind.
“…or checkered tablecloths spread on the grass…and water fights…and grandparents, or noodle salad, but you would think there would be
someone
waiting for me.”
She breathed in slowly and took a pause. She drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest, resting her chin on them.
“Verroooont?” Hiero gave Nephys an odd look. Nephys just shrugged and pushed the skiff forward a little faster.
“I guess I was really naïve.”
There was another long pause. Nephys said nothing.
“Is this…I mean…is this where…
bad
…people…go?”
Nephys had been dreading this question. Sooner or later any spirit that made it this far asked that question. People in the living world were obsessed with judgment and validation. Nephys’ grandmother had told him that his heart would be weighed against the feather of truth and that if his heart wasn’t lighter than the feather, it would be eaten by a monster. Nephys’ uncle had told him that was nonsense. He was a soldier and had survived many battles. He believed that Mithras, who had slain the Bull of Heaven, had protected him, and that he would not abandon him at the end, but there was no Mithras here.
Whatever Nephys had believed in life, he couldn’t remember exactly, he just knew it wasn’t this. There was no judgment, no condemnation or sermons when souls passed through the gates of Erebus. Kings, paupers, saints and sinners; they were all the same. They were only catalogued and measured and passed on – they weren’t even told where to go. A few asked directions, which the Children of Limbo would be happy to give them, if they had any, but it didn’t matter anyway because all paths led to equally displeasing places. Once catalogued, the souls were not anyone’s concern. Some lingered, others wandered. Some went to the Pits of Punishment to the south, some disappeared into the wastes to the west and became shades or lost souls. Others just ceased to be at all. Most faded away or disappeared eventually, to where exactly, no one really knew. Nowhere, probably, Nephys guessed.
Nephys realized he should say something to her.
“No,” he began sympathetically, “this is where
everyone
goes.”
“
Everyone
?” she said gingerly.
“Everyone,” Nephys replied.
Her face tightened as if suppressing a sob, but then she remained silent for a long while as Nephys directed the skiff across a rare section of open water. Black lotus blossoms floated beside the boat and the way became easier. They were getting closer to the edges of the city.
After a long while she spoke again softly.
“Is it all like this? I mean…isn’t there anywhere…with any warmth or light…it’s just that…after all the stories…” she trailed off.
Nephys understood how she felt. Expectations for the afterlife were very high; it was hard not to be disappointed.
“Well…” Nephys began trying to say something positive about his home, but couldn’t think of anything, “Yes, it’s mostly all like this,” Nephys gulped. It hadn’t seemed quite so bad yesterday, but after this morning, the weight felt heavier than it had in centuries. He started again…“Once there were nicer places. Not as nice as you imagine, but …nicer.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
Nephys sighed, “Well, once…long ago…the city was much bigger and brighter. There were orchards and springs. There was even a school of philosophers.”
“Philosophers? Really?”
“Oh yes, some of the greats: Aristotle, Menephis, Nasruddin; they all organized it.”
“They were here?”
“Oh yes, they were all here. Epicurus was the most disappointed by the existence of the afterlife, but Diogenes thought it was the perfect ending to a cruel joke.”
“You
met
Epicurus?” she asked incredulously. She was distracted now, which was better, so Nephys continued.
“Yes.”
“Nephys sighed through his nose, which was the closest he could come to laughing anymore. “No…not really. I heard Seneca give a few lessons, he lasted longer than most, but I mostly stayed away.” Nephys paused. “Our kind, I mean the Children of Limbo, weren’t supposed to mix with the others.” The woman didn’t answer, so he continued.
“Well, in their day…they piled the ruins of the old city up higher until it made a hill, an acropolis, and there they built their temples and stoas, gathered the people, shared ideas, even played music, but that’s all gone now. Some even managed to grow trees and plant fields, and for a while, there were farms all around the city and laughing and pleasure, at least of a sort, here in the afterlife, but it was only a pale echo of the world above. They gave it a name…they called it…”
“Elysium,” the woman whispered.
Nephys almost smiled. Not many souls knew the old names anymore. “If there were ever a golden age here…below…that was it.”
“What happened to it?” she said softly.
“It fell apart.”
“Why?”
“Everything falls apart,” Nephys said flatly, “That’s just the way things are.”
“Yes, but what about all those great thinkers? Where did they all go?”
“They’re still here…out there…somewhere. Maybe.” He shrugged. He didn’t really know. He just knew that no one had seen them in ages.
She huffed an angry sigh. “And the fields? What happened to the fields, the gardens; where are they now? The Plains of Asphodel should
at least
have asphodel flowers shouldn’t they?”
There once had been fields of flowers, asphodel and narcissa and daffodils, the flowers of forgetfulness. Nephys looked around, he wasn’t certain exactly where the old gardens and fields had been. They were all flooded now. “Somewhere around here I guess.”
“Here?” she said quizzically, “Under the water?”
“Yes.”
“Well, …I mean…how did that happen, what of the River Acheron…I mean the stories, is
that
all true?”
Nephys was impressed. This woman knew more about the underworld than most spirits these days.
“The Acheron is gone,” Nephys said flatly, “Once it ringed all of Limbo, but it over-flooded its banks long ago. This marsh is what’s left of the Fields of Asphodel and Elysium, other than the small part surrounding the city and the ruins of the acropolis.”
“But…” she began then stopped. Nephys could tell she was confused. To be honest, it didn’t make much sense to him either, so he gave the pole a strong push that set the bark on a long glide that would give him time to contemplate without working.
“The people on your side…” he began, “There must be quite a lot of them now.”
“Billions,” she said.
“We could tell. An awful lot of them have been coming down. More people on earth, means more dead down here…only things here work differently than things up there.”
“How so?”
“Up there, dreams, memories, hopes and feelings, they all seem real, but you can’t touch them, they’re not…real, not really there…but down here…” Nephys paused, he needed to give the bark another push through the brackish water.
“Down here?” she prompted him.
“Down here…those are the
only
things that
are
real.”
She was silent, but Nephys went on.
“When you die, all those dreams, feelings, emotions; where do you suppose they go?”
“Down here I guess.”
She was starting to understand.
“The River Acheron, its water, it was the well of those feelings, those dreams. That was the source of its waters…but…”
“But?” she interrupted.
“But…” Nephys continued, “More people means more dead, more dead means more departed dreams and feelings, more departed dreams mean…”
“More water.”
“Exactly. The River Acheron overflowed its banks long ago, sometime after the Black Death, and it hasn’t receded much since. Oh, the tide of the river had always ebbed and flowed, but from that time on, it just kept encroaching on the land.” Nephys pushed the bark and paused again. After a while the woman started again.
“What about the Ferryman, what’s his name…Chiron? Is that real too? I mean…you’re not
him
…are you?” She turned around to look at him, then turned back to look at Hiero, who was wheezing faintly in smug laughter. Whatever her vision of the ferryman, it must not have been a thirteen-year-old boy and a possessed bagpipe.
“Him? Oh, he left long ago. Couldn’t keep up with the traffic. To make the passing easier, we knocked over the remains of the city and filled in the gap between the city and the gates of Erebus. Now, instead of a ferryman, there is a broad path of rubble…oh, and the charge is free now, so I guess that’s an improvement.”
He tried to smile at her, but she wasn’t looking. That was fine because he was certain he hadn’t done it right. There was another long pause, and Nephys could start to see the faint, dim outline of the tombs and docks on the edge of the city which, with his poor eyesight, must mean they were getting close.
“So, that’s your job down here…recovering lost souls in the marshes?”
Hiero made a series of panting, punting sounds that sounded like chortling. Vicious ol’ windbag.
“Um…no…not really,” Nephys stated nervously, “This is more of a hobby…really.”
“A
hobby
?!” she sounded a little indignant, but it subsided. “So, what do you
do
down here?”
“I’m a scribe,” Nephys stated with some pride.
“A scribe? What do you scribble?”
Nephys was a little insulted by the word “scribble,” but let it go.
“Everything. The underworld is more than just the well of human souls.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Nephys explained, “Books, works of art, treasures of knowledge, when it passes out of human sight, it comes here and is made real, just like your…” he was about to say “car,” but decided not to for fear it would remind her of unpleasant things. “Well, any book or piece of writing. But it doesn’t last forever, it fades over time, just like the…”
“People?” she said, suddenly interrupting him. Then she got very still. Nephys hadn’t meant to say people, but it was true enough, so he let it slide past him. He gave a few vigorous prods on the long pole and guided the bark towards the docks.
“Well, someone has to record it permanently, in indelible ink, forever in the houses of the Great Master.”
“Great Master?” she asked querulously, but there was something odd in her voice, as if she already knew the answer to her question.
“Yes, the only deathless one here. Death himself.”
“Hmmph,”she snorted. “So, no noodle salad or picnics, but
Death
is real? That’s just great.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose he’s a fright, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know.” Nephys looked for a good spot to dock. The dock was cluttered with broken and half-sunken vessels, and he didn’t want to lose this one after having taken care of it for so long. “Almost, no one ever sees him. He lives deep in a sanctuary in the center of the city, and even then he is always covered in shrouds – at least that’s what they say.” Nephys pushed further down the docks; he was too far from his house here and needed a closer spot to moor the little boat.