Sins of the Soul

“WHERE ARE WE?” Naphré rolled onto all fours, suppressing the urge to groan. Head bowed, she waited until the vertigo that gripped her eased a little. The absolute darkness was disorienting.

She fought against the shivers that racked her, then gave up and just let her teeth clack together and her muscles quiver. No sense wasting energy fighting the inevitable. Rivulets of icy water snaked down her neck, slithered along her back, adding to the overall feeling of being cold, wet, uncomfortable and so damned pissedoff she wanted to scream. She looked around, a useless endeavor given that she couldn’t see even an inch in front of her face.

“Alastor?” she prodded when she realized he still hadn’t answered her question. Then again, a little louder, a little sharper, “Alastor?”

“Yeah.” He sounded as surly as she felt.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” She turned to her left, toward the sound of his voice.

Again he didn’t answer.

“Don’t suppose you brought a flashlight,” she muttered.

She heard a sound to her right, and she spun toward it, nearly losing her balance as she scuttled on all fours and the makeshift rope at her waist pulled taut.

“Just me, love.”

“You move like a cat.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her lips quirked. She couldn’t help it. “I guess I meant it as one,” she said grudgingly. “What are you doing?”

“Searching for a source of light.”

“Thought you had eyes like a cat.”

“I do. For some reason, that isn’t enough. I am completely blind here. Wherever here is.”

“Here is the realm of Izanami,” a voice said from the darkness.

Naphré recognized it. The Shikome. She sounded tense, angry.

“Is that not where we just came from?” Alastor asked, sounding neither distressed nor surprised to hear they were no longer alone. He was behind her now. He drew her to her feet and pulled her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her, either to offer heat or comfort, or maybe just to keep her in the shelter of his protection. Maybe a mixture of any and all of the above.

Even though he was as wet as she, just the physical presence of his chest against her back made her shivers subside a little.

The Shikome made a sound of dismissal. “You were in Jigoku. You may relate it to a sort of purgatory, a place where you cannot go forward, or back.”

“And Jigoku is not part of Izanami’s realm?” Naphré asked.

“It is not.”

“Why did you send us there?” she asked, noting that Alastor was conspicuously quiet, and feeling a little uneasy about that.

“She didn’t,” Alastor said softly. “Someone else did.”

“You are perceptive, soul reaper,” the Shikome murmured.

“Process of elimination. You specifically asked for Naphré. You wanted her here, in Izanami’s realm. So while you might send me off to toddle about for eternity in a realm where time passes, but doesn’t, you wouldn’t have sent her. Which means it was someone else.”

“Someone else who knew we were coming here.”

“Which actually presents far too many options,” Alastor said. “You knew.” He addressed the Shikome. “Sutekh. My brothers.” He tightened his arm around Naphré’s waist. “Your mother,” he said. Who happens to be a high ranking member of the Asetian Guard, he didn’t say. She heard it anyway.

“The identity of the one who waylaid you is of little interest to me,” a new voice interjected. A beautiful voice, like wind chimes. Like laughter. The sound actually made Naphré want to smile.

“Izanami-no-mikoto,” Alastor said, his tone low and respectful.

So this was it. She was here, in Izanami’s presence. She would learn why the Shikome had been sent for her, why Alastor had been lured to bring her to Yomi.

“Alastor Krayl. Naphré Misao Kurata,” she greeted them.

Naphré returned the greeting with a small bow. She had no idea if Izanami could see it, but her upbringing demanded she perform it nonetheless.

“Do you know the law of the Underworld regarding promised souls?” Izanami asked.

“I do,” Alastor said.

“No. Not you. I speak to Naphré.”

She felt Alastor’s fingers close around her upper arms, offering her support. Or perhaps he meant to offer guidance, because he squeezed once as though encouraging her to reply.

“I know that a soul promised to an Underworld deity must go to that deity.”

“Yes. You promised me Butcher’s darksoul.”

She didn’t really have a clue of exactly how she’d done that, but she wasn’t about to ask.

“Your lover wants this soul. He wishes to trade another in its place. His father offered yours.”

Alastor’s hands tightened painfully on her arms, even as Naphré tried to understand what Izanami was saying. “Mine? How is my soul his to offer? How—”