Sins of the Soul

Decades. It had taken him decades, and by the time he got his head screwed on right, his parents, his sisters, even their children were all nothing more than ashes. Dust. Memories.

He hit bottom. At least, he thought he did, his knees bending into a deep squat to take the force of the landing. Icy water filled his ears, his nose, his mouth, and he realized he was in a river. He had been all along.

The flow was turbulent, frothing and foaming as it rushed through the darkness, carrying him with it, and then he was falling again, the sound of the water a roar all around him, above him, below him.

A waterfall. He’d gone over the edge. He was falling, tumbling, spinning in midair.

Bracing himself, he waited for impact, but when it came, it wasn’t what he expected.

His shoulder slammed against hard ground, followed by the rest of his body. His breath left him in a rush. Pain echoed through his shoulder, to his collarbone to his sternum. His was breathless from the strength of it.

Pushing himself up, he rested back on his haunches and slicked his palm over his eyes, wiping away frigid water.

He took note of his surroundings. Overhead was a crimson sky that stretched as far as he could see in all directions. The terrain was flat. No mountains. No trees. Not even a rock. The only break in the monotony was the water that picked up the color of the sky, reflecting a river of blood. It flowed fast and hard, sections frothing pink where the turbulence broke the surface.

But there was no cliff, no tumbling waterfall, no sign of the place he’d just been.

Illusion or reality? In the Underworld, the former was likely, but that latter was possible. Having never been to Izanami’s realm before, he had no way to say with any certainty.

His cell phone rang, the ring tone set to the Grateful Dead’s “Friend of the Devil.” Funny. When he got his hands on Mal, he’d throttle the wanker.

It took a bit of effort to wriggle the thing free of his pocket. His clothes were drenched, and wet slacks didn’t exactly have a great deal of give. Finally, he barked, “Yeah?”

“Alastor?” Naphré’s voice, flat and dull. His alarm bells went haywire. The more tense she was, the flatter she got. “I didn’t know if we’d even have reception here.”

“Yeah, I’m a little surprised myself, though I’m not quite certain where here is—” He broke off. “How’d you get this number, pet? I don’t recall giving it to you.”

Silence, then, “I don’t know. I pulled out my phone, saw there was service. I just returned the last call, and you answered.”

Returned the last call. But he’d never rung her up.

“Where are you?”

Silence, then, “I’m not sure. It’s so dark I honestly can’t see my hand in front of my face. The only light is from my phone.”

Alastor strained to hear her, not through the phone, but in the surrounding vicinity. How far was she? Was she even in the same realm?

“Move the phone away from your mouth, and say my name, nice and loud,” he ordered.

She was silent for a second, then, “Okay.”

He moved his own phone away from his ear and listened. He could hear his name drifting from the phone, but not from anywhere else. So she was nowhere nearby.

Moving his cell back into position, he called, “Naphré!”

She must have heard him because she came back on the line.

“Wherever I am,” she said, “it’s nowhere near you.”

“I’d say that observation’s bang-on. Move your phone around and see if it gives you enough light to tell you anything.”

He heard her moving, heard a footstep and a soft grunt, then a louder thud. “Naphré?”

“There are bodies,” she said, her voice tight.

“Bodies?”

“In various stages of decomposition. Maggots. Lots and lots of maggots.” She gave a tight laugh, and he figured she was close to the edge.

“What else?” He almost called her pet, but something stopped him, some unease with the unexplained. Something here didn’t add up.

Her footsteps echoed through the phone, which told him she was walking on something hard, maybe stone. Then another sound carried to him and he identified it at the same second she said, “A river. It’s flowing pretty fast.”

Alastor stared at the river. Was she upriver? Down-river?

“What color is the water?”

“I can’t tell. It’s too dark.”

“Is it cold?” Alastor asked.

He waited, imagining her hunkering down and dipping her hand in the water.

“Colder than your father’s heart,” she reported.

He laughed, relieved that she still held fast to her sense of humor despite the circumstances. And then his laughter died.

Colder that his father’s heart? How would Naphré know anything about that?

“Listen,” he said. “I’m just glad you brought a couple of pistols with you. They’ll serve you in an emergency.”

“So am I.”

Which told him all he needed to know. Illusion. The cell didn’t work here. And it wasn’t Naphré on the other end of this line. She had brought knives and other close-range weapons, but no guns.

Illusion. A trick. Like the Shikome that had come to Naphré’s door.