Act 2 Verse 6
A Short Crossing
Been walking down this length of cavern for some time. Faint teal glow of the rocks lead me ever forward. I’ve been hearing the sound of moving water, getting louder with each step.
The cavern widens out, and I come to the edge of a vast, subterranean river. The water is murky and churning with a swift current. I cannot see the other side, nor can I make out the ceiling above. Just a great black void. A faint bitter aroma hangs in the air, almost like wine.
“Hey! HEEEY! Hold up right there!”
I look upstream, and floating along the dark surface comes a small wooden skiff carrying someone that's waving at me energetically with one hand and holding a long pole with the other. After catching my attention, he commits both hands to steering his craft to the shore, sailing against the current with ease to land smoothly at the water's edge in front of me.
The pilot is tall, little more than my height, and wearing a grey shirt and pants made from light wool. A brown hooded burlap cloak covers his face, but the pale, hairy hands that hold the steering pole are plain to see. There's a confident ease to his stance as he looks me over (I assume that's what he's doing).
“Look at that: an actual living soul standing by the shores of the River Styx! Looking worse for wear, but still breathing, no doubt bout it. Let me tell ya, it’s been a three-headed dog’s age since something fresh came around these parts. But given the lack of anything exciting to do, I'm not surprised.”
The verbiage he's using is that of a rancher, but there's no matching accent. In fact, his tone of voice is practically null. Bizarre.
“Anyway, welcome to this lonely neck of Tartarus, friend!” He bows with an added flourish of his free arm. “Charon is my name, and ferrying is my claim.”
Awfully perky for a boatman. Now he’s beckoning me over, looking like a hunched geezer.
“Don’t be shy; I’ll carry you safely to the other side. The river has a tendency to swallow people who try to swim on their own. The Devil’s Water it ain’t so sweet, ya hear?”
Weird saying. I step forward and onto the boat, making it rock slightly from the added weight. I sit down to help steady it, and once it settles the boatman pushes off from the shore and back into the current with his pole.
After the skiff lines with the middle of the river, a few prods of the pole keeps its course straight and smooth. My navigator begins humming some cheery tuneless melody, changing rhythm sporadically but with no lesser degree merriment. Seems my keeping to myself gets noticed, cuz he stops his diddy and looks at me.
“You doing alright there? Not to pry, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Listen to the gentle lapping of the water against the hull.
“Heh, for all I know you probably have. But cheer up, okay? It’s a smooth cruise with me at the helm, plus I’ve already ferried my fair share of Gloomy Guses and Glorias. With you being alive I thought I’d finally have a chance to chat up with someone who’s, well, lively.”
Wonder what would happen if I dip a claw in. Probably something unpleasant. Better just sit still and relax.
“So what brings you down here? Not being among the deceased and all,” he asks me, turning to focus on steering. As he should be.
“Looking for someone.”
“Oh? Like a loved one? A mentor, father/father-like figure? Please don’t say it’s to find treasure. No good end comes to those seeking clues for a greedy hunt.” A stroke of his pole. “Judging by the sword on your back, I’m guessing it’s a far more serious matter than getting advice or directions.”
“...Yeah.”
“Uh-huh, I see. Personally I don’t see the point in it, since they’re suffering a ton as is, this being the ultimate prison and all. Did they do you some great wrong? Or are you here on someone else’s behalf?”
Why must he ask so many questions. “They’re endangering a lot of innocent folks, whoever they are. I’m here to see that they’re stopped.”
“A noble quest, then! A very dang long time since a soldier of justice came storming in. That used to be all the rage in the classical ages, you know? Plunging headlong into the void, slaying the remnants of corruption left in the world, all for the greater good. Kinda fell out of fashion when they discovered that the valiant types tend to get eaten up pretty quick here. But you, you’re different.” Another stroke. “The way you carry yourself and mope around, you’ve seen lots. You’re not dazzled by high adventure or glory. You have the look of someone who’s seen the worst the real world has to offer, and maybe even partook in some of it. Not making assumptions here, so don’t be offended. Just saying that it takes a bit of corruption to navigate the treachery this place can breed. Know the enemy and all that.”
Charon just paddles along for a while, then stands still, facing forward off the bow. “With that said, you also need a little optimism to get you through as well. Corruptive agents are bad for a reason: too much and you get bogged down and can’t go anywhere. Keeping them in mind is important, but you need to be positive for pretty much everything else. That’s the key to making the most out of a very brief existence. For most races; you dragons can live a heck of a long time.”
He gets back to paddling, but looks over at me while doing so. “You look like you’ve had it rough, but you’re still young. Gotta get out and have fun while you still can; keep yourself from growing old way too soon.”
“I’ve had enough fun…”
“Hmmmmm, I highly doubt that. You got many more years ahead of you if you don’t do anything too reckless, and the sky can’t stay overcast forever. And even when it is, the sun will always be there waiting to pop out and say hello. Optimism in a nutshell.” He turns around to face me fully. He taps his head, and tilts it as though… winking? “You just need to keep your chin up, is all. Do that, and it’s all gravy.”
He turns back around and gets to paddling again, keeping quiet. I’m feeling a little lighter, and my chest doesn’t feel so tight. Weirdest damned place for a pep talk, but it’s gotten me feeling more comfortable so I can’t really knock it. Now I’m wondering when we’ll be getting to the shore.
“That looks like a good spot to land.”
Oh, answers that. In a few seconds Charon steers the skiff toward the other riverbank, and sets it slightly aground with hardly a bump. I get up and step off back onto dry land, then look up to see the massive opening before me. It’s a massive, gaping entryway with all the charm of a screaming mouth of torment, but without the teeth or lips or eyes, which makes it creepier. Made from polished black stone, like obsidian. The air coming from it is stagnant.
“Down there is one very bad hombre,” the boatman cautions. “Supposed to have done some really nasty things up on the surface. Only the Mistress comes by, so I can’t exactly tell you what to expect. Just watch yourself.”
“I will, thanks.” I make to go forward, but then remember something important and look back. “Don’t I owe ya something for the ride?”
He only turns aside and waves. “Oh don’t worry about it. You have important things to do and I don’t want to hold you up any longer. I’ll just get the payment from you later. That sound good?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Great! Well, best of luck to your travels. And don’t forget my advice.”
He pushes off from the shore, and just like that he and his little boat are taken away by the deep river. I watch him shrink away into a spec down that unimaginably long stretch of liquid damnation.
A very chipper ferryman, that one.
“Come back to stay this time?”
When the end is so near? I’m with you the whole way, little buddy!
“You sure this is it?”
Abso-posi-tivinitely! Our troublemaker is just down that corridor, waiting for a heaping dose of Spike Justice. So let’s get ‘em!
“Super. Alright then…” I turn back toward that ominous carved opening, eyes focused. “Let’s get this over with.”
Into the foreboding passage I go. Who, or what lies in wait ahead…
Only one way to know.