Page 94 of Katabasis

A lice made a noise between a cry and a yelp.

Peter did not seem to hear. He seemed lost in a daze.

He stood stock-still, peering around at the sands, at the dais, at King Yama smiling atop his throne.

His mouth hung open. He looked so heartbreakingly confused, and he kept nervously smoothing his palms across his arms.

Then his eyes fell upon her, and his face split into that bent, beautiful grin.

“Alice?”

“Peter.”

He stepped cautiously across the frame. One step, then two, and then he broke into a run. Alice darted forth. They collided. Peter’s arms wrapped around her, and hers around him. He was so radiantly warm, so alive and solid. She burst into tears.

Oh, how thin he was! This was a revelation.

Alice knew Peter was a twig, but only visually.

She had never grasped on a material level what a reed he was.

She could wrap her arms all around his waist and still come round again to clutch his sides.

Clutch she did indeed, very tightly, for if she pressed hard enough, then she could make herself his shield and protect him from everything in the universe.

What a miracle a person was, she thought.

They took up so little space. The difference between presence and absence was not even a square meter of matter.

Yet now that Peter was here, the whole world shone brighter.

At last she pulled back, but he did not; his fingers curled into her hair, his other hand against her back, and pulled her close again; fierce, unrelenting.

He held her like an anchor, like without her he would dissolve.

He kissed her, and even when their lips parted his forehead stayed pressed against hers, as if any distance between them was unforgivable.

“I died,” he breathed. He blinked down at his arms. Alice looked as well, and saw great arching scars. “I died, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“How—”

“Exchange.” A laugh escaped her. She felt so light, giddy. She clenched his shirt in her fingers. “Your notes, your work.”

“You only saw it once.”

“But, Peter.” She could not stop laughing. “I have a very good memory.”

“Oh, Alice.” His hands moved all over her, as if he had to convince himself she was real. His eyes were huge with wonder. “Alice, Alice —you’re brilliant —”

“It worked,” she cried. She couldn’t make her fingers unclench from around his shirt. She had him now; she couldn’t let him go, she would never. “I can’t believe it worked.”

Peter too burst into laughter, and it was the loveliest sound she had ever heard, was so much brighter than in her memory.

She rocked into him; listening to his laughter in his chest, shaking even as she pressed closer and closer.

So warm he was! How good he smelled. Like fresh pages.

Like pencil shavings. Like reading in springtime under a weeping willow, sunlight on her face, grass between her toes.

Had she always known how good he smelled?

Maybe she had once—maybe she had forgotten—but now that he was alive she could learn it over and over again, now she could delight in the constant discovery of everything about him.

She felt a lightness spread from her chest through her limbs.

She could not breathe. She felt any moment now she might split into a million glimmering stars, that this lightness would overwhelm her.

She did not know what to do with this feeling.

She had never felt joy like this in her entire life.

Peter drew back. His smile dimmed. “Then—Grimes?”

“He was,” she said, “the other part of the exchange.”

She saw the thought passing through him, splintering into all its consequences and implications. Peter was very clever; surely, he saw the whole decision tree.

“But why—” He stopped himself, then rephrased. “But then you came for nothing.”

“Not nothing.” She traced her thumbs down his cheeks. What a marvel , she thought; his face, his jaw, the prickly stubble where his hairline meets his temple. God carved this boy. “Not nothing. I gained everything.”

His fingers wrapped around hers. “Oh, Alice...”

“Listen, Peter.” She hesitated. The problem wasn’t a lack of what to say, it was where to begin.

How dizzying was this feeling—to have someone look at you, really look, patiently trying to understand you.

But there was so much she needed him to know, and it was all so tangled and thorny and full of feelings good and bad, and when she did find her tongue, the best she could get out was, “I wanted to say, I’m sorry. ”

“Oh.” Peter tilted his head, considering. “Well. I’m sorry too.”

Language failed them here; it did not come close to capturing the depth of feeling, of guilt and relief and shame and love.

The abyss was still there; they had not bridged it; they had only waved at each other from across the gulf.

Maybe parallel lines could meet at infinity.

Maybe. There was so much else to say and miraculously, now an entire lifetime to figure out how to say it.

But she felt that apologies, offered and accepted, were not a bad place to start.

Peter glanced down at the tree. “What’s this?”

She beamed. “Our ticket home.”

“The Dialetheia!” He reached; she passed it into his arms. The petals stretched toward his face, and the glow of him then was the loveliest sight she’d ever seen. “It’s wonderful!”

“Isn’t it just?” Alice turned to King Yama. “My lord, I’m ready to barter.”

He gestured for them to come closer. Hand in hand, Alice and Peter approached the throne.

“What are your demands?” King Yama asked.

“Journey back up top,” said Alice. “For one.”

“For one?”

“For another, we want our lifespans back.” Alice clutched the Dialetheia close. “We’ve had a very bad time, and we didn’t get what we came for, and I feel we ought to get a refund.”

King Yama fell silent for a moment. She could not read his face. Slowly he said, “You feel you ought to get a refund from Hell.”

“Alice,” Peter muttered.

“It just seems I did you a favor.” Alice was still buzzing.

She felt this was worth a try; she felt anything in the world was worth a try.

“I rid you of some pests, I mean. And I get that, in the eternal scale of things, a few years with Grimes and the Kripkes is a mere blink to you. But so, too, should be the return of our lifespans. It’s a fair bargain, don’t you think? ”

The Lord of Hell sat silent.

Alice could not see King Yama’s mouth beneath his mustache. She could only see his thick brows furrowed, his eyes glaring intensely as he did in every image from her childhood, but she could never tell whether that expression was a laugh or a frown.

Her parents had prayed to King Yama in their youth, before they took entrance exams. But why, she’d asked; what does the Underworld have to do with your college admissions?

King Yama hates corruption, they told her.

He is a benevolent bureaucrat. He is harsh to cheaters, but he rewards hard work. He is nothing to fear.

At last King Yama spoke. “You know, you magicians believe the funniest things about the world. You think your spells work because you’ve fooled the world.

You think you’re simply so clever that you’ve talked circles around the rules, that the world is so baffled it has no choice but to obey your commands.

You don’t realize that nature knows you’re lying.

You draw your little circles, and we bend and pretend, the same way parents pretend when their toddlers lie.

” He scratched his chin. “But we deities are lenient, you see. We do love to be amused.”

Alice dared to hope. “Have we amused you then, lord?”

“You have certainly been worth watching.”

He pondered a moment further. At last he announced, “I will return half of the years you gave up in your journey. Consider the rest a payment for a lesson learned.”

Alice opened her mouth to argue, but Peter tugged at her arm. “I think that’s very fair, lord.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “If that’s the best you can do.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“Yes, King Yama.”

He extended his hand.

She ascended the steps to his throne, the Dialetheia clutched tight to her chest.

He reached out. She passed it over. King Yama held the Dialetheia up and, closing his eyes, pressed it against himself.

The trees’ petals glowed a brilliant silver then, the color of starlight, and then the tree passed into Lord Yama’s chest. A bright twinkling rippled through his dark body; a million constellations winking into existence.

King Yama exhaled, and the starlight dimmed.

There’s more where that came from , Alice thought. Nothing exists without contradictions.

“Now.” King Yama gripped his staff. “Let’s send you home.”

A staircase materialized before them, spiraling outward with the sound of a rushing stream. Up and up it went until they lost sight of its end, a needle through the world. Hand in hand, Alice and Peter approached its base.

“Go on,” said Lord Yama. “Be careful you do not look back.”

“Really?” asked Alice.

“I’m only joking,” said Lord Yama. “Look however much you want. Go on.”