27. Death and Dream
27
Death and Dream
Calliste
Calliste plummeted through darkness, guided only by a prayer that clung to her lips.
Or it could be a swear word. She wasn’t certain which, because her senses barely had the time to catch up with the visceral sensation of rapid rush downward, with nothing to mark her progress or speed.
Is something pulling me?
Her body didn’t feel heavy, yet it was freefall in what seemed like starless midnight sky and it took all her willpower not to scream again, her eyes shut.
And then she was no longer falling, but standing upright on solid ground. It took her a moment to register it before she decided to open her eyes.
The sand under her feet was like fine, gleaming silver powder. The expanse of it stretched along the riverbank, and the lead-gray river that flowed the riverbed with thickening curtains of mists swirling above it, hiding the hints as to the space behind them. She ventured a step forth and stopped at a chilly breeze against her cheeks.
“This is Styx’s shore, Calliste.”
His voice behind her sent her hackles rising, not because it was frightening, but because of its otherworldliness: a blend of creamy darkness with moonlight swirled in. Soft, glittering, deep. It rippled through the silence, almost tangible against her skin, as if spoken from close.
She whipped around.
Even though she knew she’d encounter him sooner or later, her heart hammered at the sight of him: a shadowy form that was half darkness and half smoke, with the outline of his black wings tucked behind him.
He stepped forth.
Her breath slow, she slowly let her eyes climb over his divine frame, slender yet muscular, accentuated by a black breastplate perfectly molded onto his chest. It didn’t look like leather, but like a sheeny metal, which he wore over a tunic hemmed with a silver edge that might easily blend in with the nighttime sky. His leather belt shimmered as if dusted with starlight. The hem of the tunic brushed at his knees. A navy mantle fastened with a silver feather clasp dropped to his calves. His long, black hair floated about his shoulders, almost like overlaid wisps of shadows.
Calliste glanced at his face, going as far as a set of sensuous lips, and then stopped herself. One doesn’t look Death in the eyes. Yet at first glance, he was a facsimile of his brother, Hypnos.
“Welcome,” he spoke in a voice that seemed much colder than anything else around.
Motionless, she sucked down the ashen taste of fear, clutching her pendant in one hand. Her gaze remained firm on his mouth. “You must be the Lord of Death.”
His lips twisted. “Do not call me that. Please. Here, in the Underworld, you can use my name freely.”
It took her a long moment to process his words. “I’m in the Underworld?” She glanced down at her shaky hands. “But—”
“You’re not dead, if this is what you’re wondering. Your body is still in the mortal realm—you traveled here in spirit only. This time, anyway.” He took another step closer, still staying at a distance. “You cannot arrive or leave the Underworld bodily without an immortal assistance, Calliste.” His dazzling smile didn’t put her at ease.
She looked away from it, at the forest behind him, scanning the impenetrable line of the trees partly obscured by the mist. Then she glanced down as the pendant’s energy pulsed through her. The emerald lit up, bathing her in its soothing glow. She recalled the inexplicable pull when she tried to scan the prince’s body and the freefall through the planes of air. It wasn’t me. It was him. That’s why I didn’t see the image of the body but ended up here. “You summoned me here… for the second time.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“There are various answers to this question. For now, let’s say that I need you to rectify the abnormality disrupting the will of the Fates.”
“The prince’s condition,” she guessed.
“Correct again,” Thanatos replied and motioned her to go while he walked beside her, staying two paces away from her as they reached the edge of the forest. The mist thinned in front of Death, showing a winding path of silvery sand between the trees which seemed to pulsate with life.
Calliste stole another glance. Am I imagining it, or are they shifting? She halted, her breath slowing, watching the trees.
The branches unfurled in the slowest of motions, their foliage sprouting out constantly. Each tree had its own distinct appearance, like a beautiful and unique species unlike any she had ever seen before. Shimmering light flickered inside each leafy crown, resembling a trapped star; the glow made the leaves look like they were fashioned from silver reflecting the starlight.
“This part of the Underworld is called the Everlasting Enclave,” Death said, also stopping.
She blinked at the immense trees around them, still fascinated and confused. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“No?” He quirked a smile. “It’s a relief to know that you’re not privy to all the secrets of our realm.”
Calliste almost, almost looked him in the eyes to check his lighthearted tone, still finding it difficult to reconcile him with the shadowy presence that had unraveled her efforts more times than she’d like to admit. “I’m not. But I’m exceptional at keeping secrets.”
“I wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.” Then, at length, he said. “The Everlasting Enclave, which stretches on the endless banks of River Styx, is an immortal tally kept in the Underworld. Each tree here is a reflection of a mortal’s life and grows from their deeds. And it determines where their Shades travel after death: Elysium, Asphodel Fields, or Tartarus.”
She watched in awe. “Each tree is a record of someone’s life?” Her question hung unanswered until she noticed another god stepping out of the shadows.
“This is the most picturesque part of it, Calliste. My brother clearly wished to impress you.”
It was so odd to see him next to her. “Lord of Dreams?”
Thanatos gave something a snort.
“Hypnos,” the god corrected, as regal as she remembered him from Aganeeios—tall, imposing, luminous, crowned with scarlet poppies and clad in a tunic woven of moonlight, with his azure wings tucked behind him.
Seeing them side by side, her most steadfast ally and her enemy—brothers to each other—seemed almost unreal.
“Welcome to our realm, Calliste,” Hypnos said. “Not that many living mortals make it to the Everlasting Enclave. Since you are an exception, I thought you need rescuing from my monosyllabic brother.”
“Huh,” Thanatos scoffed. “Just not hemorrhaging words. Unlike some.”
Hypnos chuckled. “How do you like it, Calliste?”
“I… I can’t believe I never heard of the Everlasting Enclave before.”
“What about the sacred grove at the entrance to the Underworld?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
“Oh. Yes.” She stared at the immaculate cut of his features, half lost in their charm and half stumped at realizing what she’d always known about the Underworld was so different.
Hypnos glanced around at the ever-shifting forest. “It is true that the deceased mortals arrive here as Shades, pay our Ferryman the coin their family put in their mouth at the burial, then cross Styx to face the Judges. But first, they must find their own tree in the Enclave.” He glanced at his brother, a mute question in his eyes.
She held her breath.
After the brothers shared a wordless agreement, Hypnos spoke again. “Once the Shade finds their tree, they wait until the tree releases its essence into their hands. That’s the light that you can see behind the leaves, which the Shade takes to the Judges.”
“And what happens to the tree afterward?”
Hypnos’ eyes were calm and direct. “This, Calliste, I’ll tell you another day. We need to get to the prince’s tree. Which is… elsewhere. Where it shouldn’t be. And this is the reason you’ve been summoned here, and to Anthemos.”
“The king brought me to Anthemos.”
“The Fates brought you to Anthemos,” Thanatos said in his nocturnal tone. “And we’re looking forward to seeing how you unravel this mystery.”
It took her another moment to process what he’d said. “Is it a mystery for you as well?”
“Are you asking if we know the answer as to why he fell asleep? We only know it is definitely not an illness.”
“So what is it?”
Hypnos’ bright eyes clouded before he replied, “It’s a curse.”