A Boat Ride on the Cocytus
Three days passed in a blink.
I had sent my reply that very day by Hermes’s hand, yet no answer had come back. Whether the child was deliberately drawing it out or simply had so much to write that the letter was growing long, I could not tell.
And today I went down to the Cocytus.
The river stood fully dressed for the occasion. Twin rows of lanterns hung along both sides of the ferry landing, and nymphs lined the water’s edge in a long file, marking the path the boat would take. The moment I stepped onto the landing, bows rippled outward like waves.
A single boat was moored in the new waterway. Black timber, oiled until the lantern light slid across it like water itself; two seats side by side at the prow, each covered in fur the color of the night river.
One glance told me it was newly built. Not a single scratch marred the gunwales, and even the oars were fresh, still carrying the look of wood that had never touched water.
“You have arrived, my lord.”
Minthe stepped down from the gunwale and bowed deeply. Today she wore a dress the color of water; as neat as ever, yet somehow more carefully prepared than usual. She had spoken of dressing the river—apparently the river had not been the only thing receiving attention.
“The king’s seat is the right-hand place at the prow. Mine is beside it—for the purpose of explaining the waterway.”
She offered the reason for sitting at my side before I could even ask. I was used to it by now.
Once I boarded, Minthe recited what she called the boarding regulations. Do not extend a hand beyond the gunwale while under way. Rise only after the boat has come to a full stop. Do not dip your hands into the river—lest the wailing seep into the flesh.
Safety rules for the King of the Dead.
There was no river in the world that could drown me.
Still, they were the administrator’s rules, so I decided to keep them. When she finished, Minthe folded the tablet, tucked it into her robes, and only after confirming I was seated did she take her place beside me.
“Then I shall cast off.”
The boat slipped onto the current as if gliding.
The new waterway felt unfamiliar. The wailing I had heard for eons was halved, and what remained had sunk low, mingling with the sound of the oars.
My ears were almost comfortable. Lanterns followed the bank so that light traveled with us as far as the boat advanced. Each time we passed, the riverside nymphs bowed, and the greetings trailed after us downstream.
“The right-hand channel is deep and slow. That is the path where the wailing settles. The left is shallow and swift; souls exhausted from weeping cross over there to catch their breath. The place where the two waters meet again downstream is today’s destination.”
The explanation flowed as smoothly as the current itself. She pointed out which bend let the water rest and which rapid made the souls cry; I listened, nodding. Every time the river wind brushed past, Minthe’s sidelong glance checked the fur on my seat first.
Time passed easily while I listened to work talk. Thinking back, in all the eons I had lived, this was the first time I had ever ridden a boat without a single worry.
The current beyond the gunwale looked so lovely that, without thinking, I reached out a hand.
A wrist was caught.
Minthe. Her expression had not changed, yet every bit of strength had gone into the fingertips gripping my wrist.
“You must not touch the water. The wailing will seep into your body.”
“Ah. That’s right. Sorry.”
“Ah! Th-this, this is only because of the regulations!”
Her hand had already let go. Though I had not asked why she had seized me, Minthe answered in advance, the tips of her ears turning red.
After that, her gaze never left the vicinity of my hands for quite some time. She seemed to be standing watch in case I reached out again. I decided to keep my hands meekly on my knees.
The boat rounded a bend and drifted past the reed beds. Souls without coins stood motionless at the water’s edge, watching us. They were the dead who could not afford the ferry fare and so could not cross the river—an eons-old problem as well.
“Regarding the reed beds. Lately the guides have been taking down the names of those souls in their spare moments. When each soul arrived, where each came from. The register is about half finished.”
“I never ordered that.”
“With the wailing reduced, we have time left over. The river’s work is not only for the souls who cross it.”
For a moment I had no words. It was not that we had lacked a method; we had simply never had the time, so the task had been postponed for eons. Yet she had stepped forward of her own accord to a duty I had never assigned.
“When the register is complete, bring it to me. I’ll think about the next step.”
“Yes.”
The profile that answered seemed a little brighter—though it might have been only the lantern light. She truly was efficient when it came to work. No wonder she had been entrusted with an entire river.
“I cast off at the hour when the lanterns are loveliest. In about half a ke we will reach the confluence; that will be the fairest place on the river today.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
As the boat rounded the final bend, the meeting point of the two waterways opened before us. The divided waters wound back into one body, spreading the lantern light wide; truly, of all the channels we had passed today, this was the loveliest. Even the wailing that had flowed in two streams joined here into a single low cry.
The sound of the oars quietly slowed. The two guides kept their eyes on the water as if by prior agreement.
Minthe rose from her seat and stood at the prow. Then she turned to me and drew a single breath. Her water-colored eyes held me full-on. She was about to begin speaking.
“My king. From this day forward, this river—”
“Uncle!!!!!”
The answer dropped from overhead.
With a sound like wind snapping, Hermes slammed down onto the gunwale. The boat rocked hard; the two guides nearly lost their oars.
“A letter! I brought it faster than anyone in the world!”
The boy held the letter out with both hands, panting. To think he would chase us all the way onto the boat.
“……You can see we’re on a boat right now, can’t you?”
“I can. But the order to deliver it as fast as possible takes priority.”
Whose order was supposed to take priority in front of me? Was it a letter from Zeus or something?
I looked back at Minthe. The nymph still stood at the prow in the same posture, expression unchanged. Only her ears were red.
“Finish what you were saying.”
“There was nothing left to finish.”
I was fairly certain there had been. But if she herself said there was not, I would leave it at that.
I opened the letter.
Ahjussi. You told me to write down what I need, so I did.
One. A handful of Underworld soil. Soil from the courtyard of your palace would be best. So my flowers can get used to it ahead of time. I’m going to plant them there someday, so I have to prepare, right?
Two. The title of the book you’re reading these days. I’ll try reading the same one.
Three. Please write the next letter longer. Three lines is too cruel.
And next time, can’t I come receive the soil myself?
— Kore
A letter from Kore. Important enough, then.
I laughed twice while reading. I had told her to list what she needed, and she had answered with soil, a book title, and a longer letter—a list so modest I could not tell whether it was simple or simply odd. Soil I could scoop up from the courtyard in a single handful; as for books, these days I read nothing but the Register of the Dead and petitions, so I would have to pick something new from the library shelves.
Just deciding which shelf to start with already felt daunting.
The talk of coming to plant things was the same as ever. That declaration I had laughed off when she was little—she still had not set it aside.
Only at the last line did my hand stop. Coming herself was out of the question. This was no place for a living child; that answer was already decided. The problem was how to write “no” so that she would be less disappointed.
The disappointed face rose so clearly before my eyes that it made it worse. I had no confidence I could look at that face and say no, so being able to do it by letter was, if anything, a mercy.
“I’ll give you the reply tomorrow, so go on ahead.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll come fastest again tomorrow!”
Hermes kicked off the gunwale and shot upward; the boat rocked once more. The two guides caught their oars again and soothed the vessel.
The boat made a wide circle around the confluence and turned its prow back toward the landing.
“That is the end of the waterway. The inspection is complete.”
Minthe’s report closed as cleanly as always, and about the sentence she had left unfinished at the prow she never said another word.
When the boat touched the landing, the nymphs formed ranks once more and bowed. The line along the bank was longer than when we had set out; half of them were faces that had come to watch, and they welcomed the first boat’s safe return as if it were their own affair.
“Well done. The boat was excellent. The river looks unrecognizably better.”
“The river will be glad to hear it.”
Minthe bowed deeply, then gathered the fur from the king’s seat and held it out with both hands.
“Please take it. It is a tribute loaded onto the king’s boat, and therefore the king’s.”
I had never seen tribute offered so formally, yet there was no reason to refuse the sincerity.
I accepted the fur and slipped it into the shadows; the nymph’s bow deepened by another handspan. When she raised her head again, her usual expressionless face had returned.
Before climbing into the carriage I looked back once toward the river.
Minthe remained alone on the boat. She stood at the prow speaking something to the river, but the words were lost beneath the sound of the water.
As I turned away, that low murmur rode the water-sound and followed me for a long while.
Inside the returning carriage I opened the letter again. A handful of soil, a book title, a longer letter, and one request that could not be granted.
I began turning the reply over in my mind. I thought of several ways to phrase the refusal so it would not wound her, then discarded them all. On this matter, at least, I must not speak in circles. The Underworld was not ground for the living to tread, and if I left even a vague opening, the child would dig into that crack.
What cannot be done must be written as cannot. The disappointment I could make up for with something else. I would have to start reading a book in earnest tonight.
The moment I reached the palace I would scoop soil from the loveliest spot in the courtyard. How modest she was. Just a handful of earth—what of it?