voice?
“Water from the river Lethe,” Sybil says. “It erases wounds and memories of pain, but it’s very difficult to get to Lethe. If you make it that far, remember to refill the flask.”
“How many rivers are there and what do you mean if I make it?” I try to suppress the worry that’s bubbling up inside. The flask feels cool and leaden against my chest. It’s about the size of my pinkie finger. The front is decorated with rubies, and there is an inscription on the back, written in a language I’ve never seen before.
“What does this mean?” I ask. But Sybil is not listening. She is motioning to the Simurgh circling above us. Their bright orange feathers shine like paillettes as they glide through the murky air, four enormous wings propelling them fast as lightning.
Sybil signals to the largest bird, and he swoops down to hover above us. His top wings move faster than a hummingbird’s; the other set flaps more slowly. His face is unusually fierce and intelligent.
“Take this girl to the ferry,” Sybil orders. The Simurgh looks at me curiously. Then Sybil turns to me and says, “Now listen to me carefully,” and she proceeds to give me detailed instructions for finding the coin and boarding the ferry. She makes me repeat the information to be sure I understand and remember.
The Simurgh is waiting for me, but I hesitate. I need Sybil to explain the voice. “I have to know who was reading my story,” I say. “That voice has been talking to me for years.”
“I know,” Sybil replies.
“How do you know? Did you make it up?” I ask, desperately hoping she didn’t.
Sybil looks at me quietly, carefully considering her response. “No,” she says. “That voice belongs to someone very close to you. You haven’t met him yet, and it’s important that you stay alive until you do.”
“Tell me more about him,” I say, feeling my heart constrict with excitement, as it does whenever I hear the voice. “What’s his name? Tell me that at least.”
She shakes her head. “There isn’t time. They are probably on their way to get us now. If you stay here, it will be the end of both of us.”
“Who are they, and what is going on?” I ask, so frustrated that I barely keep the whine out of my voice.
Sybil gives me a motherly hug. She smells like linen and wild thyme, and her arms are muscular and reassuring. When she squeezes me, I feel that I’m absorbing some of her strength. She is everything I wish my own mother had been. “You must go now,” she says, releasing me. “The Simurgh will take you to the ferry,”
Reluctantly, I let go of her, and the Simurgh grabs me and lifts me up. A brigade of six more Simurgh fly with us, to ensure our safety. I am pressed against the creature’s chest as we glide above the landscape of the underworld. The soft feathers don’t offer much comfort. Under them, his torso is like iron. Squeezed against his armored body, I struggle to breathe.
From the air, Asphodel looks like a vast parking lot bordered by two rivers, and its inhabitants glow in the dim light. On my right, I can see the levee and the river that brought me here; on my left, the inky waters of Tartarus flowing sluggishly between Asphodel’s shore and the vast dome of the City.
When the ferry comes into view, I see the crowd of souls waiting to board. The line is half a mile long. The ghosts are corralled into narrow metal chutes arranged in switchbacks. They shuffle like cattle until they get to the front of the line, where two men inspect the human cargo before allowing it to board.
Minotaur swoops through the air to meet us. “You can’t let the ferryman see you with the Simurgh,” he says. “Follow me.” He shoots up into the sky like a streak of light. The Simurgh follow as he races toward a huge black ship that’s cruising through the air like a blimp. We hover above it as Minotaur shrinks to a small flash of light and goes down to investigate. The vessel moves slowly
“Water from the river Lethe,” Sybil says. “It erases wounds and memories of pain, but it’s very difficult to get to Lethe. If you make it that far, remember to refill the flask.”
“How many rivers are there and what do you mean if I make it?” I try to suppress the worry that’s bubbling up inside. The flask feels cool and leaden against my chest. It’s about the size of my pinkie finger. The front is decorated with rubies, and there is an inscription on the back, written in a language I’ve never seen before.
“What does this mean?” I ask. But Sybil is not listening. She is motioning to the Simurgh circling above us. Their bright orange feathers shine like paillettes as they glide through the murky air, four enormous wings propelling them fast as lightning.
Sybil signals to the largest bird, and he swoops down to hover above us. His top wings move faster than a hummingbird’s; the other set flaps more slowly. His face is unusually fierce and intelligent.
“Take this girl to the ferry,” Sybil orders. The Simurgh looks at me curiously. Then Sybil turns to me and says, “Now listen to me carefully,” and she proceeds to give me detailed instructions for finding the coin and boarding the ferry. She makes me repeat the information to be sure I understand and remember.
The Simurgh is waiting for me, but I hesitate. I need Sybil to explain the voice. “I have to know who was reading my story,” I say. “That voice has been talking to me for years.”
“I know,” Sybil replies.
“How do you know? Did you make it up?” I ask, desperately hoping she didn’t.
Sybil looks at me quietly, carefully considering her response. “No,” she says. “That voice belongs to someone very close to you. You haven’t met him yet, and it’s important that you stay alive until you do.”
“Tell me more about him,” I say, feeling my heart constrict with excitement, as it does whenever I hear the voice. “What’s his name? Tell me that at least.”
She shakes her head. “There isn’t time. They are probably on their way to get us now. If you stay here, it will be the end of both of us.”
“Who are they, and what is going on?” I ask, so frustrated that I barely keep the whine out of my voice.
Sybil gives me a motherly hug. She smells like linen and wild thyme, and her arms are muscular and reassuring. When she squeezes me, I feel that I’m absorbing some of her strength. She is everything I wish my own mother had been. “You must go now,” she says, releasing me. “The Simurgh will take you to the ferry,”
Reluctantly, I let go of her, and the Simurgh grabs me and lifts me up. A brigade of six more Simurgh fly with us, to ensure our safety. I am pressed against the creature’s chest as we glide above the landscape of the underworld. The soft feathers don’t offer much comfort. Under them, his torso is like iron. Squeezed against his armored body, I struggle to breathe.
From the air, Asphodel looks like a vast parking lot bordered by two rivers, and its inhabitants glow in the dim light. On my right, I can see the levee and the river that brought me here; on my left, the inky waters of Tartarus flowing sluggishly between Asphodel’s shore and the vast dome of the City.
When the ferry comes into view, I see the crowd of souls waiting to board. The line is half a mile long. The ghosts are corralled into narrow metal chutes arranged in switchbacks. They shuffle like cattle until they get to the front of the line, where two men inspect the human cargo before allowing it to board.
Minotaur swoops through the air to meet us. “You can’t let the ferryman see you with the Simurgh,” he says. “Follow me.” He shoots up into the sky like a streak of light. The Simurgh follow as he races toward a huge black ship that’s cruising through the air like a blimp. We hover above it as Minotaur shrinks to a small flash of light and goes down to investigate. The vessel moves slowly
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