Page 91 of Katabasis

A lice followed the golden braid up the bank, the Dialetheia sitting heavy in her rucksack.

Behind her the Lethe lapped gently against the shore, producing a soothing, rhythmic wash.

The sands were so soft beneath her feet, and her heels sank a little every time she took a step.

She had the oddest sensation that rather than walking across an island, she was walking through a cloud.

She could give no reason for walking alongside the braid, except that it looked very much like a trail, and that she didn’t think anything so gold and bright could lead her somewhere bad.

Of course bright and shiny things made up traps all the time, but in that case they winked and glittered with purpose, enticing you with every dash of glamour they could muster.

The braid didn’t seem like it cared for her attention either way.

Here it was minding its own business, but she could follow along if she liked.

So follow she did. The braid took her up a shore, across the bank, and then up a steep hill growing steeper with every step.

At last she reached the peak, and Alice saw that the braid had led her to a throne.

It was an unadorned, high-backed chair, sitting out in the open upon a raised dais.

Beside the throne, three slim trees intertwined to form an arch, beyond which Alice could see nothing more than a gently turning wheel.

Atop the throne sat King Yama, Hades, Thanatos, the Lord of the Underworld, the Overseer of the Yellow Springs.

Alice saw now that the golden braid was a chain of souls; mere lights bobbing one after the other, blurs stripped of all individual features, uniform in their quivering, vibrant want .

One by one they approached the arch. One by one the Lord of Death touched them lightly with his dark fingers, and they seemed to quiver with excitement before casting forth into the wheel.

The wheel shimmered each time a soul went past, and its spokes lifted them somewhere unknown, beyond.

She tiptoed as she drew closer, for she felt, as one did at christenings or baptisms, that she ought not disturb the process.

She was near enough now to see every spoke of the wheel.

Each was different: some were long, some were short; some glimmered bright, some were dark with rust. A little waft of air floated across the throne as it turned; a bright sweet scent, of flowers in spring, herbs in a garden, and this was so refreshing that Alice could not help but gasp.

“Alice Law,” rumbled the Lord of Hell. “It is a thrill to watch new life being made, is it not?”

Alice struggled to gaze directly at him.

He was brilliant; not with the harshness of the noon sun, but with the cosmic glittering of the night.

He was, like the Weaver Girl, swathed in a fabric that seemed the same stuff that made the universe.

Only his was infinitely darker; the color of a cloudless night when, lying flat on your back atop a hill, you might tip forward and disappear among the constellations.

She could fall into that night, she thought.

She could wrap his essence around her like a blanket and sleep forever, if only he would permit it.

“My—my lord.” Her voice sounded so tinny to her ears. “I—erm, how should I address you?”

“However you like,” said the darkness. “With whom do you wish to speak?”

Alice considered her options. The darkness took a succession of shapes before her, as if making clear her choices. Tall, bearded Hades, bearing bident and key; dark mother Kali, four-armed and beautiful; silent Anubis, his scale standing behind him.

“King Yama,” Alice decided. “Yanluo Wang.”

Best to keep to the familiar. Despite his bulging eyes and rage-filled grin, something about his image—scowling out at her from temples, behind incense sticks, on grocery store calendars—made her feel safe.

She knew King Yama; her parents knew King Yama; all her ancestors knew, and feared, and prayed to, King Yama.

She knew his long black beard, his ever-present scowl, his burning eyes and long robe. She had known him all her life.

King Yama was most fair and just. King Yama bore no grudges, and held no antipathy toward the living.

Since her childhood she had understood that his scowl was only an appearance; that in truth King Yama was benevolent and compassionate, that he had indeed once been demoted to a lower rank of Hell for his leniency.

He was dedicated only to fulfilling his duty, to acting as a judge—and his adherence to rules, she thought, could only count in her favor.

The Lord of the Nine Springs blurred, and then the darkness took on shapes more material.

Now before her stood the great official; his skin a deep blue, his eyes glowing like twin blood moons.

A tall, gold-rimmed official’s cap materialized atop his head.

His thick, black brows organized his face in a rictus of fury.

A dreadful deity, yes; but a deity she knew.

“Good choice.” He spoke to her in Chinese, and this too put her at ease. She felt she was not so much tempting the unknown as she was sinking into childhood myth. So many heroes had bartered with King Yama. She could too. “What can I do for you, Alice Law?”

She tried to remember Elspeth’s script. “I seek an audience.”

“You are enjoying one. What next?”

King Yama’s eyes twinkled. Alice recalled then that according to some Buddhist texts, King Yama himself was not a permanent fixture of Hell, but a being who sought reincarnation himself.

King Yama, like any of them, was on the path of his journey of transmigration.

He had not ruled over this domain since the beginning of time, but indeed hoped to be reborn as a human, so that he might seek true awakening.

And if King Yama had been human once, and might be human again, then perhaps he might have sympathy for her situation.

He might know how it felt to make all the wrong decisions, and have no option but to beg the gods for mercy.

“I have something that belongs to you.” Arms shaking, she reached into her rucksack and pulled out the Dialetheia. It shone even brighter now, in the shadow of the ever-turning wheel. It was heavier, too. Its leaves seemed to grow perceptibly by the minute; they were now the size of her palm.

“Where did you find that?”

“I didn’t,” said Alice. “It was a gift. From Elspeth Bayes. She found it—well, I don’t know, exactly. Between two rocks, she said. Close to the shore.”

“Where is Elspeth now?” asked King Yama.

“She’s moving through the courts now, I think.” Alice cleared her throat. “That is. The proper way. With her transcript.”

“I am glad. I feared she never would.” King Yama swept his long-robed arms forth. “I’ll have that back now.”

Alice clutched it to her chest. She didn’t mean to—it was a possessive instinct—and she felt immediately she had committed some great affront. Who was she to defy the gods? But at least Lord Yama did not seem angered. He only waited from his throne, wearing that constant scowl.

“I—well, no.” She drew a shaky breath. “I was hoping we might—make a trade. I have some demands.”

He nodded, as though he had been expecting this. “What are your demands?”

“I want—” Alice halted.

She thought she knew her answer. She had been so certain, sitting on the Neurath with the pomegranate tree beneath her legs. She had worked out the precise wording of her request; its constraints and logic. And yet here before the throne, at the end of all things, her mind went blank.

Gently King Yama asked, “What was your purpose in Hell?”

This question was easier. She answered like a child listing months of the year. “We came to find Professor Jacob Grimes.”

“Merely to find him?” King Yama raised both hands. “You need not barter for that.”

Darkness flew from his fingertips and moved in a spiral over the sand between them, swirling faster and faster until the circle took on a definite shape.

It was something like a pentagram, but so much more potent.

Pentagrams were meticulously crafted, written in languages known to man, while this circle was wrought of ragged symbols Alice had never seen.

King Yama snapped his fingers. The ground jolted.

A slumped figure appeared inside the black not-pentagram, hunched and indeterminate. The darkness stilled. The figure stood.

“There,” said King Yama. “You’ve found him.”

Professor Grimes was not one of the Shades who had put much effort into preserving their appearance.

The only part of him rendered in any clear detail was his head; his hawklike features somehow emphasized, both bolder and more elegant than they’d been in life.

Below the neck he was a flowing, formless darkness; the same shape of ghosts hung on Halloween.

For a moment he turned in circles, taking in all that was around him. The Shade of Professor Grimes did not walk; he drifted and swooped like a bat. He observed the wheel, the golden braid, and the throne. His head tilted all the way back as he took in King Yama’s form. He chuckled.

“So you are the architect of this realm? The mastermind of my suffering?” Professor Grimes stretched taller until he and Lord Yama were face-to-face.

His feet did not touch the ground. His deathly form had no feet at all, only swirling gray.

“Only a deity after all. It makes me wonder. What does it take to kill a god?”

“I warn you, Jacob Grimes.” King Yama spoke now in English. His voice never rose above its calm rumble; not a hair in his beard ruffled out of place. And yet Alice felt the warning thick in the air; a thunderstorm about to break. “You are a guest in my realm.”