Sins of the Soul

The water was coming from her right, which meant that was probably the direction she had come from, carried here by the massive wave that had caught them up like a giant, brutal fist.

She looked to her left. “Left it is,” she muttered. Might as well follow the water. Alastor had pushed her out, as far as she could recall, which meant the river had carried him farther along. She might walk for a bit and find him. Which would be a very good thing.

Or she might walk for a bit and find out where the river went. Likely, to Izanami.

A less good thing, but still an option.

She was wearing the running gear that she’d pulled out of her pack, but she hadn’t brought spare shoes, which meant her hiking boots were her only option. Sitting back down, she grabbed them and dragged them closer, then shoved her hand inside to see how wet they still were.

Not wet at all.

She frowned, glanced at the sky. Right. No sun. No way to tell time. But her stomach was rumbling again, making her think she’d dawdled here a lot longer than it had seemed.

Aware that her rations were limited, she took a handful of almonds, a couple sips of water, and started to walk.

And walk.

Hard to tell how much ground she covered, or how long she kept going. She walked until exhaustion took her and she slept. She awoke, ate, drank, walked some more. Time was meaningless. The scenery was meaningless. Everything looked the same. The river never changed. The land never changed. There wasn’t so much as a stone to mark her way. For all she knew, she was walking in circles, passing the same point again and again.

She didn’t let herself admit that she was afraid. That something was very wrong. She was out of food, and almost out of water. Yet, she thought she’d only been walking for a few hours.

The passage of time was warped. Altered. She thought she remembered Alastor saying something about that happening in the Underworld. Then she thought maybe she imagined it.

Everything was becoming a blur.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she hunkered down and took stock. What she’d been doing up till now hadn’t worked. She needed to do something different.

Or she would die.

She opened the pack and evaluated her supplies.

She had a lighter she could use to start a fire, but there was nothing to set alight and nothing that she could boil the river water in to make it safe to drink. She shot a glance at the water, considered all the possible deadly microorganisms—the bugs she couldn’t see—that might hide in its red depths, and shuddered.

The point was fast approaching when she was going have to decide if she was willing to scoop it up and drink it as is.

But just the thought of that made her so afraid that her gut clenched and her heart raced. Why? What was it about drinking the water that was so wrong?

Then it hit her. The food of the dead. If she ate or drank anything in the Underworld that had not been brought with her, then she would never be able to leave. Partake of the food of the dead, and you’re dead. That’s why the thought of drinking the water was so abhorrent.

Damned if she did. Damned if she didn’t.

Either way, she would die.

A nice thought to accompany her on her endless trek.

Again, she slept.

When she woke up, she felt so weak she could barely move. There was no more water. No more food. She couldn’t remember how long ago it had run out.

Pushing herself to a semi-sitting position, her legs stretched out to the side, she stared at the river. Was he here somewhere? Alastor?

The river had carried him away. She remembered that. She was certain of it.

But she was so weak. She was out of options. She was going to die here on this hard, red ground and she’d never get to say goodbye.

He’d never get to say goodbye.

In her mind, she heard the tone of his voice as he talked about his human family: dead parents, dead sisters, dead nieces. Somehow she knew it would hurt him unbearably to lose her without even a goodbye.

A sharp pain blossomed in her chest.

She’d never made love with him. She was so angry with herself for that. She was going to die and he was going to be left without even a memory of her. She should have pushed it, should have insisted, should have punched through that damned icy wall he wrapped around himself.

“Fuck you and your control, Alastor Krayl,” she whispered. It was little more than a rasp.

Then she pushed up on all fours, head hanging down, the world spinning around her. All the “should-haves” of her life seemed to spiral down toward her, and she was bowed beneath the weight of them.

Forcing her head up, she stared at the river and the white-capped swirls of water that broke around the rocks.

Wait. The rocks. She stared at them, their size, their shape, and she knew in her gut that she hadn’t really taken a single step. No matter how long she’d walked, no matter how much time had passed, those were the same damned rocks.

Only the water moved here. Only the water could carry her forward.