“The dead you have always with you,” Weston said. “Sooner we go, sooner you can get back to your task.”
“A bargain then,” Vivian said. “Passage across the river for the three of us and the birds. Eight bloodstones. And you direct us to the path that will lead to the Black Gates. I will pay you now, in full, if you give me your word to fulfill your end of the agreement.”
“We have a bargain.” She thought she caught a flash of sharp white teeth, lit by the glowing eyes.
Zee touched her arm, and she knew he too had seen it. The Ferryman was holding something back that gave him pleasure. He was not to be trusted, but there was no choice. Already he had brought the raft to shore. Weston shrugged, picked up Poe, and leaped aboard, holding out his hand to Vivian.
The moment her foot touched the deck, the Ferryman stood blocking her, hand outstretched. If she took one step back, if he pressed one hand against her, she would topple into the river. She shuddered at the thought of what that would mean, to fall undead into those black depths and be swept away. She felt Zee’s hand on her arm, steadying her, knew if she fell he would do his best to catch her.
“Toll,” the Ferryman said.
Vivian counted the bloodstones out into his palm.
“There are only seven here.”
“I gave you one already.”
“True.”
He looked up, and she gasped to see his face. Not deformed or scarred, or ugly. A beautiful face, one Michelangelo might have used for a David or an angel.
“What will you do with them?” she asked.
He smiled, his lips a sensual curve over white teeth. “I have my own debts to pay. Keep to the center of the raft if you would not fall in.”
Turning, he picked up his long oar and shoved the boat out into the current. Vivian took uncertain steps toward the center of the boat, Zee’s hand still warm on her arm. A strange and silent trip in the wide dark followed, lighted only by the Ferryman’s lamp and the glow of his eyes.
The light reflected on the water in a radius around the boat. The current rippled and flowed. No sound but the water slapping against the bow. Vivian was deathly cold, her muscles clamped tight, racked by shivering. Zee’s hand on her arm ceased to be warm, and then she ceased to feel it at all. Frost glinted in Weston’s beard.
How wide the river was, she could not tell. Neither bank was in the range of sight. There was nothing but the small island of light, the Ferryman’s movements, Weston’s and Zee’s breathing, a small rustle of feathers as the birds shifted restlessly.
The change began as a kernel of warmth at her core. Cold as she was, she welcomed it without thought, grateful and encouraging it to grow. It did so, fist-sized, hotter now, until her belly was full of the growing heat. It flowed through her veins, throwing off the cold, expanding her senses, filling her with strength.
Charon turned as though he felt the change. The green glow in his eyes spiked and again he smiled that dangerous smile. “Ah, My Lady, I fear I did not recognize you. I should tip you into the river before you come into all of your power.”
“I mean no harm to you.”
“Not now, perhaps. Still, a bargain is a bargain. And you have a dark and dangerous way to go.”
The Ferryman stopped paddling for a moment, lifting his lamp to look at them all more clearly. In the light of his lantern Zee appeared clad in chain mail, bearded and fell as though he had stepped out of a painting of one of the knights of old. Weston was in leather, a bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows slung on his back, hunting knife belted at his waist.
“So now I see. The River reveals what has been hidden. You, My Lady, are many things. As for your companions—you are well protected. The Warrior and the Hunter. The bird who does not fly, and the raven. All headed for the Black Gates. And there are bloodstones in play. Truly, time has moved apace in the world above.”
The boat gave a little shudder. Vivian glanced up to see the light sparking against cliffs of glistening black stone. A narrow path wound like a gash up the side.
“There is the way,” the Ferryman said. “It is steep. There are—barriers.” A new respect had entered his voice and he swept his hood back and looked Vivian clearly in the eyes, with no mockery or treachery in his. “There is little I am permitted to say. Because of what you are, it is possible that you will find the way out into the land above. It is probable that your death awaits you.”
“In which case,” she said, “I will see you again very soon.”
“Ah. There is much you do not know.”
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Of this, I may not speak. Beware. Death has no favors for one such as you.”
The boat bumped up against the stone wall. Weston was first to leap out, carrying Poe. Zee followed. They stood waiting for Vivian, but she lingered, shivering and afraid.
“You could stay with me,” Charon said, lowering his voice. “You are the first in lifetimes of humans who would be fit to be a companion to me, and I would keep you safe.”
“It is long to be alone in the dark,” she said, “but I must decline. I have oaths to fulfill, if I can.”
He nodded, and to her great surprise, bowed to her. “Go then, My Lady. Beware.”
His last word echoing in her ears, Vivian turned and clambered off the boat to join the others. Charon lifted his hand in a salute and began his journey back across the river.
Thirty-five
He might have warned us,” Weston said.
“He did warn us.” Vivian sounded tired and frail, but Zee was not misled by that. The strength of will that drove her was a mystery and an amazement to him.
They stood at the very edge of a precipice beneath a sky not black but gray. As they had followed the path a dim light gradually emerged, enough to allow them to set one foot in front of the other, steadily increasing until now they could see the sheer drop-off at the end of their way, thousands of feet straight down to where the river flowed beneath them.
Here it was not the smoothly flowing entity that Charon had ferried them across, but rather a seething mass of white water, spiked by sharp spits of stone. It was hungry.
“Do you feel it?” Vivian asked, stepping up beside him.
Zee put out an arm to fence her in, to hold her back. “It wants us.”
At his touch a shudder went through her, and she blinked as if waking from sleep. “Can’t have us.” Her head turned to follow the river’s course to the place where gray light filtered in through the roof of the cave. “There’s our exit.”
“I still don’t see how we’re to get there.” Weston had stepped well back from the edge and was clinging to a spar of stone, looking dizzy and sick. The cut on his cheek had bled freely into his beard, which contributed to a sort of mad-prophet look that might have been amusing at another time.
Here, in this place, even the memory of humor was hard to find.
Zee assessed the options. The path ended here; the rock between them and the opening downriver was nothing but a jumbled mess of sharp pinnacles and crevices that would be impossible to navigate without climbing gear. Even then, only an experienced mountaineer would be able to do it, and it would take time. Going back would accomplish nothing. There was only one path, and no way back across the river.
“What now?” Weston asked.
“There is only one thing we can do,” Vivian answered.
Zee’s heart twisted into a knot so tight he wondered that it kept on beating. Already his pain ran so deep he could scarcely contain it, and now there was more. He had known the moment they reached this point what she was going to do, although he had hoped to be wrong.
“We’ll have to fly,” Vivian said.