The First Letter
The letter.
I had sealed it the night before. I read it over twice before bed and found nothing that needed changing. I chose the neatest envelope I had.
The moment I finished breakfast I spoke to Mother.
"Mister told me to write him a letter. Please call a messenger."
Mother agreed and sent a nymph to loft a summons into the sky. After days of my doing nothing first, she looked almost glad that I was taking the initiative.
Hermes only arrived after half a day had passed. The same boy who used to drop in before anyone even called him. He must have spent the journey steeling himself. I decided to count it as time I had generously given him to prepare.
He landed at the farthest edge of the fields—far enough that the walk alone would take a long while. Even after he touched down he stood there scanning the place until a nymph went to fetch him, and only then did he start walking.
I saw him take half a step back before his Ptenopedilos even fully met the ground. Ready to bolt from the sandals up.
"I heard I was summoned… so I… came."
The honorifics had roughly doubled. His eyes were fixed somewhere past my shoulder. Past that shoulder stood nymphs with spears, so I supposed there was nowhere comfortable for his gaze to land.
"Why did you set down so far away? Come sit here."
"Ah. Yes. The breeze is nicer over here."
What breeze.
I patted the seat beside me. Hermes settled into an awkward crouch three paces away. The same boy who used to plop down right next to me without being asked.
"Why haven't you come around lately? I was starting to feel neglected."
"I've been… a little. My routes changed recently. I'm really busy. Today alone I'm covering three places…"
"Every place except our fields, apparently."
"Th-that's not—"
Look at him sweating.
"Sorry for calling you when you're busy. But what can I do? I think I'll be calling you often from now on."
"…Often?"
"Mm. If letters are going to go back and forth, we need a delivery boy. Who else is there but you?"
I smiled and held out the letter.
"Mister told me to write. Said if I felt stifled I should send letters. So deliver this for me. As fast as you can."
"Yes. Yep. I'll go right away."
I watched him tuck the letter into the deepest part of his tunic. At least he understood it was something he could not afford to lose.
His hand was so quick taking it that he was already half-risen when I called his name.
"And Hermes."
"…Yes."
"Thank you."
Hermes froze solid. I had never seen anyone lock up over a simple thank-you.
"About that day. You didn't tell anyone, did you?"
The color drained from his face. He seemed to weigh pretending he had no idea what I meant, then simply nodded without managing a single word.
Not that he hadn't told—more that he couldn't. The moment he opened his mouth, he himself, who had been standing right there, would be in trouble. Either way, he had kept quiet, and that was enough.
"You'll keep delivering my letters the fastest from now on, right?"
"Yes! Yep. The fastest in the world."
"Good boy. There's really no one else but you."
The instant the letter was secure against his chest, Hermes shot straight up. Faster than last time. At this rate it would become a habit.
I watched the receding speck and waved.
What should I write in the next one? It would be nice if he asked for something he needed in his reply. Then I would have plenty more to say.
For three days straight the only reports from the surface were that everything remained quiet.
Inside the kingdom, life continued as usual. A report came up that Orion had driven and taken down a six-horned beast out on the plains. He said he would release it to graze there, so I told him to go ahead.
The two household spirits who watched the outer edge of the fields every night reported that nothing crossed in or out. That strange death had left no trace since that day. Fortunate, if one chose to see it that way—yet it also meant there was nothing to catch, which left an unfinished feeling.
I shook my head free of thoughts about that unfamiliar death. Guarding was all I could do for now. The rest would be a matter for whenever it showed itself again.
I was reviewing documents for approval when a knock came at the door.
"A letter!"
Hermes stood there breathing hard, holding the letter in both hands, half-bowed at the waist.
Come to think of it, he had just knocked and entered. Was this the first time the boy had ever knocked?
"Lady Kore—no, Sister Kore—sent this. She said to deliver it the fastest in the world. So I came the fastest."
At that speed from the surface to here, it really must have been the fastest in the world. The old ferryman must have fallen over in shock. Lately this boy had grown remarkably polite.
Whatever happened on the surface must have shaken him thoroughly. He had become a proper person since that incident. Or rather, a proper god?
I took the letter and broke the seal.
Mister.
I'm doing well. The flower field is safe now. It's all thanks to you.
I miss you.
It was a short letter. I read that short thing twice. The first time for the content; the second time simply to read it again. Perhaps because it was the first letter I had ever received from my niece.
She was well—good. That she felt safe meant posting the household spirits had been worthwhile. The words "thanks to you" lingered a little longer. I had done so little, yet in the child's eyes even that must have looked large.
At the last line I paused a moment, then let out a short laugh. Locked away in the fields, she must be bored. Bored enough, at that age, to say she missed one particular adult.
"How are the fields?"
"Quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary. The nymphs are still standing guard with their spears."
"Good. Go rest. I'll give you the reply later—deliver it on your way."
"Yes! And I'll deliver that the fastest in the world too!"
Whatever wind had gotten into him lately, his enthusiasm was overflowing. I thought I had done well changing messengers, then remembered how for the first few days I had worried about pickpockets, and smiled a little.
After Hermes left I returned to the approvals. Three hundred pages of the register of the dead were finished in half a shichen.
And then I stalled in front of a blank sheet.
Harder than the paperwork of ten thousand dead: one reply to a niece.
Draft one. To my niece. I am glad to hear the climate of the fields is mild, and—
What official document was this? I crumpled it. Again.
Draft two. Kore, look here. In the short time since we last met—
It had only been five days. Crumpled.
Only after wasting two sheets did I decide to keep it short.
In the end it came out like this.
I am glad you are well. Do not go outside the flower field. If you need anything, write it down and send it.
Three lines. Reading it over again, it still sounded like an approval document, but everything that needed saying was there. I was glad I had added the last line. A child who was confined needed something to look forward to, at least.
I sealed the letter with wax and set it aside.
"Minthe of Cocytus requests an audience."
When I told her to enter, the scent of peppermint came in first. Minthe bowed deeply as always, but today she carried neither scroll nor blueprint—empty-handed. Meaning she had only one thing to report.
"It is complete."
"Already?"
"We ran day and night. I had given my word to the king. The waterway now splits into two channels, and the lower ferry landing has returned to its proper place. The wailing has been cut in half, so the riverside nymphs say they are finally sleeping well."
"That, at least, is welcome news. Well done. What about the guides?"
"All twenty can now lead a soul to the boat on their own. Even souls whose lamentations stretch long are standing at the landing within half a day. Lately even the ones from the reed beds come looking for us."
"And since Your Majesty told me to finish first and then speak again—"
Minthe lifted her head.
"Now that it is complete, I say it once more. Please ride the first boat on the new waterway yourself."
"I'll do it in three days."
"We will handle every preparation on our side. Your Majesty need only come. The boat is newly built, and the furs for the seat have already been dried."
"You built a new boat."
"It is a boat that will carry the king. We could hardly launch an old one."
"Even the furs."
"The river wind is cold. If Your Majesty caught a chill, it would be my fault."
Minthe drew a palm-sized scrap of fur from her robes and stepped close, holding it up beside my shoulder.
"I chose this color. I thought it would suit Your Majesty when you wear it."
The tips of the fur nearly brushed my shoulder. The peppermint scent washed over me.
The King of the Dead was not going to catch a cold, but there was no reason to refuse the gesture. She had even matched the color.
"I prepared a place at the prow. And one more seat beside the king's place."
"Who sits beside?"
"I will. I need to explain the waterway, and I can hardly shout it from a distance. The boat will travel from upstream to down. We will stop briefly at every spot worth Your Majesty's eye. We will launch at the hour when the lanterns look their loveliest."
"I'll take the report that day, on the boat."
"That day every riverside nymph will come out to pay their respects as well. They are all envious of the seat beside the king on the first boat. Though that seat is mine."
The river nymphs must truly love a good boat-watching.
"Then I will see you in three days. Until then I will dress the river in its finest."
Minthe withdrew, then paused half a beat at the door. She glanced back and added one more line.
"I will too."
Even after the door closed, the peppermint scent lingered for a while.
I will too. So the nymphs would all be dressing up together that day.
Throughout the report one household spirit had never left the doorway. Even after Minthe left it stood staring at that door for a long time, so I told it it had done well. The children had grown quite diligent lately.
When night came I tidied the study.
The reply had gone out with Hermes, the approvals were finished, and all that remained was clearing the desk. When he came to collect the answer, the boy had looked as if he were receiving a sacred relic.
This time too he tucked it into the innermost fold of his clothes, pressed it twice to check, and left. He really had become a proper person lately.
I could not throw Kore's letter away, so after wondering where to put it I simply left it on the desk. Once replies began going back and forth we would need the space anyway. Once I set it down, it happened to be right beside the black vase.
Minthe's Nightwater Flower and my niece's letter lay side by side.
One vase of flowers, one sheet of letter. The vase had come from the river; the letter had come from the fields. For the first time in a long while the barren desk felt a little crowded.