Roel cocked an eyebrow, and Thoth said, “I see you are skeptical.”
“Lord Thoth, I believe my moral awareness and center of thought does not reside in my breast.”
“Indeed it does not,” said Thoth. “But the closest I can come to translating the word ‘Ab’ into your tongue is to name it your heart.”
At Roel’s side Celeste was nodding in agreement, and Thoth looked at her, and though his mouth was that of an inflexible ibis beak, somehow he conveyed a smile through his eyes.
“Then judge away, my lord,” said Roel.
Thoth held out his hands wide with palms upraised and said, “I call upon the goddess Ma’at to aid me.” A golden glow suffused throughout Thoth’s form, and then with his keen ibis eyes he stared at Celeste. Long moments he studied her, and then he turned to Roel.
“Oh, my son, there are many dark deeds in your past, yet they are exemplary endeavors of honorable warriorkind, and your Akhu and Ab remain unstained.” Thoth turned and faced the dark gateway and called out, “By my wisdom and the judgment of Ma’at, I declare these beings worthy to pass through the gate to Erebus, for that is the realm of Lord Hades.” In that moment the golden glow vanished from Thoth’s form. He turned to Celeste and Roel and said,
“These things I do advise: each of you place a small coin in your mouth, for you will need it. Do not drink the waters of the rivers in Erebus, for one bestows the rancor of hate, another the oblivion of forgetfulness, still another the torment of sadness, and yet another the misery of lamentation, and one is a river of fire. Too, do not visit the Palace of Hades, for he will summarily eject you.”
“Thank you, My Lord Thoth,” said Roel.
Thoth waved a negligent hand and said, “Now go, for that netherworld awaits you,” and then he vanished.
Celeste rummaged through a pouch at her belt, and she withdrew two small copper coins. She handed one to Roel and placed the other in her mouth. Roel followed suit, and then he nodded to her, and she nodded back, and together and leading their horses, they stepped through the wall of black.
36
Erebus
They found themselves under a leaden sky and among sobbing women and moaning men and weeping children all standing on a bare slope leading down to a dark river, where a long and broad, gray stone quay jutted out into the ebon water.
In spite of the coin tucked in her cheek, and though she did not speak the mother language of those who come to Erebus, still Celeste had some hope of being understood, for it is said that the dead speak all tongues.
She stopped at the side of a woman and asked, “Why do you lament?”
With tears running down her face, the woman turned to Celeste and said, “Many here grieve for they are the shades of the unburied-those who died at sea or in remote fastnesses or in faraway lands, and no coins were placed in their mouths. Others of us grieve for, although we were buried, our kindred were too poor to yield up the least obolus, a mere sixth of a drachma. Hence all of us are lost souls who cannot pay Charon his fee to ferry us across the Acheron and through the Dismal Marsh and over the Styx beyond, and so we will never reach Erebus to mingle with our kindred, and none of us will ever drink of the Lethe in order to be reborn.”
Ah, so that’s what the coin is for: a ferryman’s fee.
Celeste looked about, wondering how to help, yet there were so very many shades without even a sou.
“Come, Celeste,” said Roel, “I see a boat approaching.” And so down to the jetty they went, leading the horses after, and when they reached the gray pier, although they could step onto the stone, their horses could not.
“What th-?” asked Roel, puzzled, for although the animals were willing, it seemed they could not place a single hoof on the quay.
“Ah,” said Celeste, enlightened, and she took four small coins from her purse and tucked one each into the tack of the four animals, and onto the dock she led them.
In the distance across the torpid dark water they could see the ferry approaching, and Roel said, “It seems too small to hold us and the horses, too. Yet we must reach the other side, but I care not to leave the animals behind.”
“Let us see what the ferryman says,” suggested Celeste. “Perhaps he has another craft.” On came the small boat, ebon in color, with a high prow and stern. And now they could see Charon poling the vessel. He was dressed in black robes, and a hood covered his features. Closer he came, and now they could see his withered, almost skeletal hands, yet his hood held the darkness of a moonless night, and nought of his face did they see.
He stopped alongside the pier, the top wale of his ferry level with the capstones, and with a shriveled, taloned hand he silently gestured for Roel and Celeste to board.
“Ferryman,” called Roel, “we would take our animals with us.”
Charon pointed a skeletal finger at the horses and beckoned.
“Cherie, though it will take several trips to get all across, I think the boat is large enough to accept one of our mounts. I will lead my mare aboard.” Untethering his packhorse, Roel stepped from the dock and into the boat.
Charon held out an atrophied hand, a hand rather like that of a long-dead corpse. Roel spat out the coin from his mouth and gave it over to the ferryman.
Charon then gestured at Roel’s mare and beckoned.
Roel pulled on the animal’s reins, and the mount stepped from the dock into the boat, and-lo! — the craft lengthened.
Again Charon held out a withered hand, and Roel took the coin from the mare’s tack and gave it over.
The ferryman then gestured for the gelding to board, and Celeste tossed Roel the lead from his packhorse, and he pulled the animal into the ferry, and once again the boat grew, and once again Charon demanded his due.
And in a like manner did Celeste and her horses board the craft, each time the ferry lengthening to accommodate them.
Now Charon plunged his pole down into the waters of the River Acheron, and slowly did the boat turn to leave the dock, and as they pulled away, Celeste withdrew a handful of coins from her drawstring purse, and she flung them onto the bank, and the forlorn rushed forward in a mad scramble to snatch them up.
“I just wish I’d had enough for all,” said Celeste as she watched the ruction ashore.
“Did you save six coins for our return?” asked Roel.
Celeste blanched. “Oh, love, I didn’t think of that.” Roel smiled and shook his head. “I believe we have more coin in our baggage, but if not, we’ll manage somehow.”
Beyond the width of the Acheron, Charon entered a fogbound drear marsh, and across weed-laden waters he fared, and if the torpid current of the river flowed through this foetid swamp, neither Roel nor Celeste could discern it.
Behind them, the bank of the poor and the unburied disappeared in the gray fog, and onward Charon poled.
“How can he see his course?” whispered Celeste.
“I know not, love,” Roel murmured in return, “yet it seems he does.”
Finally they emerged from the stagnant waters of the Dismal Marsh, and once again it seemed a current flowed, though slowly, as did the River Acheron.
“This must be the Styx,” said Celeste, as on Charon poled.
At last he came to another stone pier and glided to a stop alongside. And then with a gesture Charon bade them to disembark.
This time Celeste led, and onto the quay she and her horses stepped; Roel and his mare and gelding followed; and as each person or animal left the boat, the ferry shrank.
As Charon swung about and poled away, Roel said,
“A marvelous craft that, for it changes size to accommodate its passengers.” Celeste nodded and said, “I think it must be because at times-as in war or during a plague-many souls come all at once for transport into Erebus.” They trod to the end of the pier, where before them they saw a gateway, and in the opening and tethered on a long and heavy bronze chain lay a monstrous three-headed dog with a serpentine tail much like that of a Dragon.