her. The sound of Kiri’s toenails on the rocks echoed close behind. After a couple of bends, the daylight from the entrance vanished, leaving only the fluctuating glow of the souls to light their way. At points Sophie and Adrian had to duck, bending almost double to walk beneath the low rock ceiling, causing her a tremor of claustrophobia. Relief spread through her when they turned one last bend and the tunnel opened out into a huge cavern.
In fact, “huge” didn’t begin to describe it. “Vast,” more like. Colossal. She stopped at the river’s edge, taking it in.
The cave’s ceiling rose so high she couldn’t even see it. The largest stalagmites and columns stretched up at least a hundred feet before disappearing into darkness. The few stalactites that hung down from above showed only their tips; shadow engulfed their bases. Kiri trotted ahead to the edge of the black river, which formed a barrier separating them from an expanse of rolling hills. The light suffusing the landscape didn’t come from the sky, but rose from the ground, from the thousands or probably millions of glowing souls milling in the fields.
Grass, flowers, trees, and other plants grew here, underground. Their colors were mostly pale, like a world covered in frost. The souls themselves looked washed out by their own glow, the tints of their clothing and hair fainter than they would be in life. The grass, though alive, was more white than green, like the stem of the violet Adrian had given her. Some trees and bushes grew blue-white leaves, others yellow-white or violet-white, and a few black. The flowers were the only vivid spots: bursts of scarlet and purple and lime-green (and yes, white), forming pools or pinpoints of color at the feet of the souls. Sophie watched as the ghost of a little girl tried to grasp a red tulip, her transparent hand passing through the stem over and over.
“This is it. The afterlife.” Sophie meant to make it a question, but it emerged a soft statement.
“I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw it, either.”
“When was that?”
“Three years ago.”
“Did you die or something?”
“No.” He tipped his head to look up into the darkness. “Someone brought me.”
“Nikolaos?”
“No. Someone else.” He turned and walked along the bank. “This way.”
She followed. “You’re sure I’m not dead?”
“You’re not. And neither am I.” He led her to a post sticking up at the river’s edge. A square wooden raft was tied to it, bobbing against the post in the stream’s current. Kiri leaped onto the raft and sat, watching Adrian. He stepped onto the raft, and took Sophie’s hand to help her down. “I’d kneel unless you have excellent balance.” He dropped to his knees, untying the rope from the post. “Wouldn’t want to fall in the river.”
Sophie folded herself down, feeling the damp, splintered wood against her fingertips. If this was indeed some kind of magical afterlife, she could only imagine the fate that might befall someone who touched its eerie waters.
“What would happen?” she asked.
Having freed the mooring rope, he reached into the river and picked up another length of rope, this one dripping wet. “You’d be soaked and freezing.”
Oh. At least that made sense.
“It’s all kind of mythological, isn’t it,” she observed.
Adrian glanced at her. “Interesting word choice.”
“Well, a cave of souls, with a river and everything.”
He only said, “Hm,” and returned his attention to the ropes.
The river did look cold and swift, but it wasn’t huge. It was narrow enough that she could have lightly tossed a rock across it, but wide enough that she couldn’t have jumped it.
The River Styx, she thought, her mind retrieving the name at last. And the Elysian Fields. That’s what it reminded her of: Greek mythology. As a kid she’d owned a book of the myths, with beautiful bright illustrations. But considering the odd look Adrian had given her at the
In fact, “huge” didn’t begin to describe it. “Vast,” more like. Colossal. She stopped at the river’s edge, taking it in.
The cave’s ceiling rose so high she couldn’t even see it. The largest stalagmites and columns stretched up at least a hundred feet before disappearing into darkness. The few stalactites that hung down from above showed only their tips; shadow engulfed their bases. Kiri trotted ahead to the edge of the black river, which formed a barrier separating them from an expanse of rolling hills. The light suffusing the landscape didn’t come from the sky, but rose from the ground, from the thousands or probably millions of glowing souls milling in the fields.
Grass, flowers, trees, and other plants grew here, underground. Their colors were mostly pale, like a world covered in frost. The souls themselves looked washed out by their own glow, the tints of their clothing and hair fainter than they would be in life. The grass, though alive, was more white than green, like the stem of the violet Adrian had given her. Some trees and bushes grew blue-white leaves, others yellow-white or violet-white, and a few black. The flowers were the only vivid spots: bursts of scarlet and purple and lime-green (and yes, white), forming pools or pinpoints of color at the feet of the souls. Sophie watched as the ghost of a little girl tried to grasp a red tulip, her transparent hand passing through the stem over and over.
“This is it. The afterlife.” Sophie meant to make it a question, but it emerged a soft statement.
“I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw it, either.”
“When was that?”
“Three years ago.”
“Did you die or something?”
“No.” He tipped his head to look up into the darkness. “Someone brought me.”
“Nikolaos?”
“No. Someone else.” He turned and walked along the bank. “This way.”
She followed. “You’re sure I’m not dead?”
“You’re not. And neither am I.” He led her to a post sticking up at the river’s edge. A square wooden raft was tied to it, bobbing against the post in the stream’s current. Kiri leaped onto the raft and sat, watching Adrian. He stepped onto the raft, and took Sophie’s hand to help her down. “I’d kneel unless you have excellent balance.” He dropped to his knees, untying the rope from the post. “Wouldn’t want to fall in the river.”
Sophie folded herself down, feeling the damp, splintered wood against her fingertips. If this was indeed some kind of magical afterlife, she could only imagine the fate that might befall someone who touched its eerie waters.
“What would happen?” she asked.
Having freed the mooring rope, he reached into the river and picked up another length of rope, this one dripping wet. “You’d be soaked and freezing.”
Oh. At least that made sense.
“It’s all kind of mythological, isn’t it,” she observed.
Adrian glanced at her. “Interesting word choice.”
“Well, a cave of souls, with a river and everything.”
He only said, “Hm,” and returned his attention to the ropes.
The river did look cold and swift, but it wasn’t huge. It was narrow enough that she could have lightly tossed a rock across it, but wide enough that she couldn’t have jumped it.
The River Styx, she thought, her mind retrieving the name at last. And the Elysian Fields. That’s what it reminded her of: Greek mythology. As a kid she’d owned a book of the myths, with beautiful bright illustrations. But considering the odd look Adrian had given her at the
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