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Julia breaks through the glassy pool of the Sea of Souls—gasping, tangible. Her lungs bellow like the forges she made her living working, so unused to existing that they ache with every exhale. She looks at every which direction, only to be greeted by an endless wine-colored sea. Bulbs of bright light drift below its surface, and it takes Julia a moment to remember that those are souls and that’s how she’s supposed to be right now.
Except, she heard a song, and all she can think about is the face of her husband as red cloth drapes over his body—gold lights dancing around his face as he stands resolute against the living storm pouring onto an unnamed plane. She compares it to the sheepish man who sometimes forgot what his last name is, and she knows that she can’t let her soul be quelled into the sea once more.
But then something grabs onto her ankle, and she has scarce the breath to realize what is about to happen before she is plunged into the depths once again.
She breaks through the surface again, this time more prepared. She gets enough air into her lungs so that she can breathe before immediately kicking her legs and swimming away. A warm power tugs on her legs, urging her to return to the slumber of the afterlife, but she shoves it aside. The image of her husband shines brightly in her consciousness as the scattered echoes of the song reverberates through her skull. Her muscles ache, but it’s nice to have a body that can even ache again. She pauses, pushes her bush of wet curls out of her face, and swims onwards into the horizon.
Julia doesn’t know how long she swims until she sees a dot on the flat horizon. It grows bigger with every stroke, taking shape into an island consumed by a citadel of obsidian stone. Whatever kind of body she has now doesn’t seem to grow tire, but she doesn’t know if she will ever wander into another island like this again. So she changes her course and heads towards it.
Then, at once, she’s face down on the shore. Her cheek presses into the smooth, wet stones as she watches the water move back and forth over her. Clumps of hair gets into her mouth and eyes, but she makes no move to brush it aside. For the first time in a long time, she can feel a chill settle over her skin. She raises her hand, realizing with every second that her brown skin is ashy and heatless. She almost laughs. Of course it is. She’s dead.
The second the thought comes back to her, all energy leaves her. Limp like a doll, she lets the waves lap over her prone body as she fights to keep herself from turning into another light in the sea. The cawing of birds above her keeps her grounded. A large raven lands at her side, inspecting her with a depthless eye. It pecks at her face a few times, sees her squirm, then starts picking the strands of hair out of her face.
The soles of a pair of shoes crunch on the rocks until she can see the steel toes before her eyes. Her pupils slide upwards. A dwarf woman stands over her, hands on hips as the fabric of her black cloak billows in the wind around her. Teeth gnaw on a pair of lips, and ashes fall from her beard when she shakes her head. “Shit. What washed you up?”
Julia stares at her, finding that she can move her mouth. Her voice is weighted and strange, but it sounds like her. “Huh?”
“What are you doing here? You look like you’ve been dead for a decade now at least.”
Julia blinks, expecting the dwarf’s dour expression to change. “I’m dead,” she says, and right. She is dead. She remembers the terror of feeling the boards of wood under her feet give away into flame, then open sky. Her soul remembers the crack of every bone breaking from the impact of falling into the ravines of Raven’s Roost. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay. That makes sense.”
The dwarf squats, picking up a strand of wet hair to inspect. The raven at her side squawks, and the dwarf raises her brow. “She can’t be an at rest soul if she’s not in the sea,” she says, but it’s to the bird.
The raven looks down at Julia, but makes no noise. Julia replies anyways.
“My husband.” Julia blinks again, and she wonders if she’s going to stay aware of every twitch of her body. “My husband. I need to see him. I need—”
“Hush you.” The dwarf’s face contorts with more puzzlement that borders the thin line to anger. “Well, congratulations. You’ve successfully managed to fuck up my day.” She returns to her full height. “Well, you got legs. Get up, sugar. Let’s sort you out.”
Energy crashes through Julia so quickly that she feels dizzy. Her muscles shake as she pushes herself up, gasping as new feelings course through her. It’s not pain, but it’s almost too unpleasant to bear. The raven hops around her, cawing and flapping its wings to a spot a few feet away. A folded piece of clean linen sits on the rocks, and right. She’s naked.
The raven takes a beakful of the cloth and drags it to her. The dwarf woman grumbles as she picks it up and drapes it over Julia’s shoulders. “Hurry up,” she says, helping her to her feet. “I have places I ought to be.”
Once around her shoulders, the linen becomes a plain dress. Julia can accept that. She stumbles through her first steps in a long time to the wall of the citadel. The dwarf woman places a hand on the smooth surface.
Then they’re on the other side.
Black stone makes up the walls and floors, but it’s hardly foreboding. Desks of all kinds line both sides of the long room, each one decorated as though it’s from a different room entirely. A tiefling’s desk is made of pure stone, with a layer of soil circling it. Pots of plants crawl over every surface as he turns the pages of a large tome. Another desk is painted a homely white, where an orc woman sits on a couch with what appears to be a newly dead soul in a panic. It’s only when Julia looks up that she can see how a place like this is the realm of the Raven Queen. Large, gothic chandeliers shine light down with their flickering candles, a raven perched on every wrought iron arm.
The dwarf’s pace is relentless as she leads Julia through the long room, only stopping when she reaches a messy table with comfortable chairs sitting on each side of it. The dwarf woman immediately takes a seat on the side farthest from where a glass bottle sits at the desk's ledge. It holds a single sprig of lush lavender, so heavily laden with leaves and petals that it leans to the side, as if to hold out a hand for Julia to grab. “Okay, okay.” The dwarf finds a pair of half-moon spectacles, which she unfolds and places on the crook of her nose. “So. I’m going to need a first name.”
“Julia.”
“Do you have a surname or a locale?”
“Uh, both? Burnsides and Raven’s Roost.”
The dwarf doesn’t look up when a raven sweeps down low, only holding out a hand for what Julia presumes a scroll is going to be dropped. But, instead of receiving a scroll, the raven lands on a precarious stack of papers and squawks. The dwarf startles, looking incredulously at the bird. “She’s what?”
The raven makes the same noise before flapping through the air, landing on top of Julia’s head. She holds still, feeling it nestle into her bunch of curls before pecking at each strand on by one.
The dwarf pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. Julia, is it? Did you do anything against the laws of nature during your lifetime?”
“No?”
“Are you telling the truth?”
“I’m already dead,” Julia replies. “What the heck do I have left to lie about?”
“Sugar, I can’t get access to any of your information right now because you’re under the strict jurisdiction of the Grim Reaper. Do you have any clear idea of what that means?
Julia’s hands tighten to fists. "No. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard anything about the afterlife beyond going the sea of souls and being rebirth. All this bureaucracy is weird.”
The dwarf narrows her eyes. “I’m an inductor. I take any souls that have qualms about going to the sea and help them get situated. I deal with the average souls who people who might not have been the best, but weren’t anything to raise a brow at. The reapers, on the other hand, are the bounty hunters of the Raven Queen. You don’t ever deal with them unless you’ve managed to screw up the laws of life and death. If you ever see any of them, you’re in deep shit. And if you ever end up under the care of the head of the reapers-- the Grim Reaper—then you might as well have never existed at all.”
Julia jumps to her feet, sending the raven on her head flying into the air. She sways when her legs quake beneath her. She yelps and grabs onto the edge of the desk, keeping herself balanced enough to make her peace. “I can’t stop existing. I just remembered Magnus. I can’t just go back to not being again.”
“Sit down and stop making a scene. You’re going to be fine.” The dwarf sends her an ugly glare that tells her everything she needs to know. Carefully, she lets herself drop back into the comfortable chair. “Are we cool now? Good. All this probably just formalities, like someone having tried to use your soul for necromancy, and so forth. I’m going to go talk to the Grim Reaper right now, get this sorted out, and have your case rerouted back here so that I can get you back at peace as soon as possible. Are we clear?”
“I don’t wanna be at peace,” Julia says. “I want—”
The dwarf waves her hand through the air, making a ripping noise that makes Julia go quiet. It’s like a small bit of reality has curled back, giving entry way to what looks a different room of black stone. The dwarf takes on step through, straddling the portal. “One thing at a time. Stay here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Then she steps through, and the portal closes behind her.
The problem is that the dwarf is gone for what feels like a long time. Julia stays in her chair, watching as other inductors file paperwork and sit down newly arrived souls. She sees one gnome work through three different cases. After some time, a raven flies down to her, and she’s more sure than ever that it’s the same raven each time. Its beak holds a sack, and when it releases it, the cloth falls back to reveal a pile of fruit.
“Thank you,” Julia says, picking on at random. She bites into it—a pomegranate—and relishes at the feeling of something going into her stomach for the first time in years. The energy she lost the moment she washed up on the shore rushes back, and she swears she’s buzzing in her seat. She breaks off a piece of the pomegranate with her mouth and holds it out for the raven. It eats with relish.
Worry burrows deep into her gut. These new memories of Magnus are nothing more than scatterings—an image of a younger man here, another one there. Every time she tries to think about another aspect of him—their wedding day, her walking down their garden path with a bouquet of lavender sprigs to where he cries under the gazebo—the memory warps until it’s him on a planet with a purple sky, rolling up his sleeves as he stands on a grand silver deck. She wants to remember how shyly he asked her to marry him when that mirror image of him roars with boisterous laughter that almost could be his if it wasn’t so not Magnus.
Julia chews on her fruit, frowning. Her eyes drift to the side, catching the sprig of lavender once again. For all her worth as a battle strategist, she had more than her fair share of trouble trying to plan her own wedding—one that was rushed under with excuse to that neither knew the gazeebo was going to be done so soon (in truth, they couldn’t stand the idea of not being married to each other sooner). In their hurry to get everything together, Julia forgot that she needed a bouquet.
She had cut a handful of lavender from the bushes in the garden—Magnus’s favorite flower—and held them close to her chest as she walked down the aisle. They both cried.
Julia stares at the spring of lavender at the corner of the dwarf’s desk for a moment longer. Then she reaches for it. The raven on her head squawks an indignant note and stabs its beak into her skull. She yelps, and slaps her hand down at her side.
“Okay, okay,” she tells the bird, rubbing the pained spot. “I get it.” She leaves it alone after that.
Julia’s through her third fruit when a new portal finally opens. She pushes the rest of the fruit aside quickly, wiping her mouth clean as the dwarf steps through. “All good?” Julia says.
The dwarf grimaces. “Oh, sugar. I ripped him a new one and the son of bitch still wouldn’t do it.”
Her gut welters. “Shit.”
“Pack up,” the dwarf says. “Time to get you to the Eternal Stockade.”
When Julia steps through the portal, she knows she's going to see a room made of black stones. What she doesn’t expect is how the hallway she enters lacks the homely quality of the inductors’ offices. The grand chandeliers are replaced with torches that cast little light, and the ravens that perch on every ledge available glare as Julia stumbles barefoot into the space. Her own raven stays on her head, scratching its claws into her scalp. At least she has one friend with her as she hears the dwarf who found her wish her luck before the portal closes out of existence.
Julia takes a deep breath. She has to believe she’s going to be fine one way or another.
Then she starts down the hallway, feet echoing on the cold walls.
Sooner than she expects, the hallways opens into a large chamber. A round table sits in the middle with a dozen black-cloaked people standing around it. With so many clustered in one space, Julia can see all the details that make their uniforms different. A gnome’s cloak is lined in a white flower detail. A human wears a black dress with a hood sewn in. A beautiful elf with short, choppy hair wears a black uniform imbued with a reddish hue, an insignia shining on the breast.
The reapers seem to be cleaning up, clearing the space of all the maps and tomes they had spread open. Julia knows the sight well—a battle meeting. They were going to go to battle soon, if not for her own arrival.
A handsome man with dark skin pushes a folded piece of paper into the hands of a human in a black hijab. “Get these sigils checked out for me,” he says as the beads in his braids shine under the torch light. “Everyone else, take a break. Lup and Barry, join me please.” Julia has scarce a moment to see two cloaked people in the reddish-black cloaks high five when the man marches straight up to her.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. His version of the black uniform is a patterned Basotho blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He pulls a hand free, and holds it out for a handshake. “I’m Kravitz, the Grim Reaper.”
Julia takes it, recognizing that his hand is cold but hers must be even colder. “Julia.”
He smiles, warm and inviting in a way that unlike anything she’s seen so far. A man with his reputation, she thinks, should not be this welcoming. “Let’s take this to my office, won’t we?”
His office is in a room overlooking the meeting chamber, a sleek stone space with frightening torchlight as the only decoration. “Forgive the aesthetics,” he says, taking a seat behind the desk. “I’ve had to do my fair share of interrogations.”
“Am I being interrogated?” Julia asks, staring at the hard looking stool sitting between her and the Grim Reaper’s desk. The raven making nest in her hair seems unperturbed, but she can’t take that as a sign for anything when she’s the dead one.
Kravitz snorts. “No, no. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A long groan comes behind her, and it takes Julia a second to remember the two reapers Kravitz had asked to join them. One is an older pale man with a frumpy pair of glasses on his nose and an even more uncomfortable disposition. The other is the choppy-haired elf she saw earlier, beautiful face contorted in frustration as she throws her head back. “Then what’s the point of us being here, skull-bones?” she demands.
Kravitz’s eye twitches, choosing to focus not on them but on Julia’s confusion. “These two are my current trainees—Barry and Lup. You’ll have to forgive their… spirit.” Barry gives a small wave while Lup just looks even more bored with her surroundings. Now that she has names to place with the faces, Julia can’t help but to feel as though she knows these two. They’re familiar, like the remains of an old song stuck in her head. “And you two are here because you would kill me if didn’t include you in this.”
“Bold of you to assume what I kill over.” Despite every soft feature of her face suggesting otherwise, Lup looks serious. More serious than she has any right to be. “Okay. Get on with it. What’s up?”
Kravitz picks up one of the braids framing his face, holding up the end where a bead connects a black feather to his hair. “When I broker your employment deals with her majesty, she graciously granted me this piece of her plumage. It allows me sole control over the astral fates of anyone featured in the song from the Day of Story and Song—at her merciful discretion, of course. However, this goes for anyone with the slightest involvement with it.” His eyes meet Julia. “And that includes you.”
“Huh?” Lup’s tall enough that she has to lean in to get her eyes mere centimeters from Julia’s face. “Who’s this? I don’t know her. Barry. Babe. Do you?”
Barry shrugs. “Can’t say she’s familiar.”
“Well…” Kravitz clears his throat. “Okay. Um, how do I put this?”
Julia rolls her eyes, stepping back so that she can breathe. “Okay, wait. So Day of Story and Song is that massive message that got sent around everywhere? I saw it. I’m not in it. My husband is, but I’m not.”
“Husband?” Lup says.
Barry’s crossed arms fall off his chest, his face opening up with amazement. “Wait a second.” He breaks into a goofy smile. “Oh my god. No way. You’re Julia. You’re the Julia.”
Lup stares at him. “Babe.”
He grabs Lup’s arm, looking torn between jumping up and down in joy and showering her with a flurry of kisses. “Julia! Magnus’s Julia!”
“You know Magnus?” Julia says right as her brain makes the connection. There were seven birds. One of them is the burly man she woke up to in the morning, the matching wedding band on his finger. Another is a lover. Another a twin.
This is Magnus’s family—one he didn’t know he had.
Julia’s chest feels weighted, like something between her ribs is suddenly too heavy for the rest of her.
Lup brightens with the same all-consuming grin. She jabs a quick peck into his cheek, muttering something into his ear before turning back to Julia. “Oh my god! I can’t believe it!” Her excitement is explosive—launching her from Barry’s side and into Julia’s personal space. Her cold hands cup Julia’s cheeks, lifting her up onto the tip of her toes as she observes the human carefully. “Julia! You’re Julia!”
Julia squeaks when Lup drops her, only to be crushed in a powerful hug that can break bones. Lup rambles a mile a minute about family and I can’t believe we’ve never got to meet, breaking apart from the hug to get another look at Julia’s face. She only gets overwhelmed by her own excitement once again, latching back into a hug that squeezes the air from Julia’s unused lungs. The raven on Julia’s head caws, flapping into the air to land on Kravitz’s desk.
The small smile falls from his face, tucking a hand under his chin as he listens to the raven’s crows.
“What’s it saying?” Barry asks. He gives Lup an askance glance when she squishes Julia’s face deep into her chest, taking Julia’s attempts to pry herself away with a light shrug.
“A technicality,” he says. “Lup, let her go. We have business we need to get to.”
A breath later, Julia finds herself free and standing between Barry and Lup—shoulder to shoulder. Lup clasps her hand on hers, entwining her fingers into Julia’s. It could be comforting if the power in Lup’s grip wasn’t so strong. Julia can’t tell if it’s because she’s been dead and without feeling for so long, but even Lup’s gentle touches are ten times harsher than they should be. At least Barry has the decency to give her an aloof wave before focusing on Kravitz.
“Okay, so from what I can gather… Julia, you were in the Day of Story and Song for a short moment, just the part where the whole planar system got to see Magnus’s life at Raven’s Roost. It’s small, but it’s enough that your astral fate is essentially in my hands.” He sighs. “Which leads me to the part that I’m sure you don’t want to talk about. You should be at peace in the Sea of Souls. Why are you not doing that?”
Julia meets his tired eyes, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t want to be.”
“You can’t just change your mind—”
“Well, I did.”
His frown is short, but patient. “Okay, fine. Then why?”
The words catch in her throat. She can see herself standing before the desk, the Grim Reaper staring straight back at her, as she says she just wants to see her husband again. She imagines her voice growing smaller, her eyes large like a child wishing for her childhood teddy bear. “I think if I told you,” she says instead. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“You’re not dead.”
“I’ve been dead far longer than you’ve ever been alive.”
“You didn’t die and go into the sea.” Julia steps out from Barry and Lup’s line, pushing aside the stool so that she can be in front of the desk, hands braced on the edge. The glimmer of a memory—of standing in an opulent office as the corrupt governor Kalen takes her enraged accusations with a bemused smile. Trying to convince a mad man to take her complaints seriously, that she’s speaking for more than just herself. “I did. If being at peace is being lost in platitude, then I don’t want it.”
“Julia—”
“That song? I heard it. I heard everything I left my husband to face alone. Everything he went through before he was made to forget. And you know what? I can’t go back into the sea. Not when I remember what it’s like to live again. That song reminded me what life is like.”
Kravitz takes a deep breath. “It’s not a punishment. It’s being at peace.”
She meets his gaze. “It’s being tranquilized. I don’t want it.” She takes a deep breath. “Look, I get it. You guys aren’t going to find a way to miraculously make me come back to life. I’m dead, and I don’t think that’s going to happen. But…” The memory of the sea’s haze washes over her. “I just don’t want to go back.”
“I don’t see why she has to go back, Boner.” Lup slides onto Kravitz’s desk, ignoring how he rushes to get all his files out of her away. She runs a hand through her hair. “She doesn’t want to be at peace? Fine. Then she doesn’t have to be.”
“You managed to get both of us these jobs,” Barry adds. “Julia’s family, so can’t you get her one?”
Kravitz rubs his temples. “No, no. I can’t.”
“You have complete control over her astral fate,” Lup intones.
“Taking a soul that’s already dead and putting them into a state of holy undeadness technically goes against the laws of life and death—which is completely out of my paygrade.” Kravitz leans back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach as he chews glumly on his lip. “Her holy majesty would have to approve, and I’m already wagering a whole lot on two certain liches turned reapers.”
“I never said I wanted to be a reaper,” Julia says, pointedly ignoring Barry and Lup’s respective sheepish and amused huffs. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all?”
He groans. “I’m thinking.”
“This is family we’re talking about,” Lup says. “Taako would kill you.”
“I know! Just, shut it and let me think.”
Lup turns to Julia, giving her a wry smile. “Taako’s my brother, which this doofus made the very intelligent decision to date. You’re technically vaguely related to the Grim Reaper, if that’s not cool enough.”
“Um, okay?” Julia sorts through the flashes of life she saw during the song, trying to see if she can piece together a face for this Taako. His face is fuzzy in her mind, but she knows he looks nothing like a Burnsides. “And you’re related to Magnus?”
Lup waves a hand. “Once you hop planes for a century, you just become blood, ya know?”
Julia doesn’t.
Barry clears his throat. “So, um, here’s an idea—you said that you were wagering a lot on Lup and I becoming reapers. Is there anything we could wager for Julia to be, I don’t know, not as dead?”
“Like, make a gamble with a goddess?” Julia says.
“The balance of life and death can only be interrupted by the intervention of Lady Luck,” Kravitz says, though less like it’s a sure rule and more like a proverb everyone knows to be wrong. He steeples his fingers over his mouth. “We do that, we put the ball in her holy majesty’s court. She decides what Julia’s reward would be, and what will be on the line to get it. She could ask for anything, including throwing all three of you into the Eternal Stockade for a millennia.”
“Great!” Lup hops off the desk. “Let’s do it.”
“Wait, what?” Julia watches as Lup stretches out a hand, a large scythe materializing from the fiery red sparks of her magic. “We’re going to do this?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
Julia opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to process everything. “If I fail and get thrown into the Eternal Stockade, that’s fine by me. But I’m not going to do something that’s going to put someone else’s entire life on the line.”
Lup rolls her eyes, turning her neck with it. “It’s no big. I’m not even alive to begin with.”
Barry clasps a hand on Julia’s shoulder, sending her jolting with surprise. He’s quieter than she should give him credit for. “You’re family. You’d do the same for us.”
“Um—” She stops herself.
Lup stands with her scythe in hand, giving her a tight frown. Her thin brows and pressed lips, as if she can hear all the thoughts going through her head. It’s the first time since becoming conscious again something in the realm of the dead makes Julia’s skin crawl. “Um what?” she asks.
Julia doesn’t know these people. Not at all. During the rebellion, she was known for her shrew strategies, not for blind faith in others. “I should, uh, just go by myself. I don’t want you guys getting wrapped up in all this.”
“Trust me.” Kravitz stands and draws his own scythe from the ether with a fluid movement. “You don’t want to go in there alone.” He cuts open the portal, urging everyone else to step through and let him do the talking once they’re there.
Lup’s lips twist before she takes her eyes off Julia.
Julia can only let the knot in her stomach tighten as she follows these people into the portal.
In the realm of the living, gods are drenched in ceremony. Go to temple as often as you can, observe the holidays, and send up your prayers. Some require sacrifices and offerings. Other ask for demonstrations of character. Growing up, Julia fell under the following for Istus. On the last day of the week, she showed up to the temple in her best clothes at the break of dawn, listened to a cleric tell her to keep her heart open to fate’s call, then immediately forgot about it once she was back home again. Once a year, she joined her father and the rest of the congregation in a week long sequester, fasting as they attempted to weave rugs and tapestries that will give their house fate’s good tidings for the year to come.
She doesn’t know what the following of the Raven Queen is like, but she always imagined that it was a somber, if not outright morbid affair made of people choosing death over life.
But now she’s stepping into the court of the Raven Queen, taking in the sight of a grand party. True, the ballroom is still made of reflective black stone, but the chandeliers overhead are a hive of crystals made for kings. People of all races fill the space, mingling amongst themselves in a jovial time. They wear garb from all time periods—pieces Julia had in her own closet when she was alive to garments she only read about in books. On every shoulder is a raven that pecks at hair and skin, an extension of the body.
“Minor gods of death,” Barry explains, gesturing to the crowd. She’s once again sandwiched between him and Lup, trailing behind Kravitz as he strides through the ballroom, stoic in face as his blanket billows around him dramatically. Barry nudges her side, pointing to a god as he explains, “That’s the god of death from childbirth. Then that there is fratricide, dysentery, defenestration—”
“My dude!” Lup runs over and gives the god of death by defenestration a high five before jumping back to retake her place next to Julia. Her grin is large and toothy, basking in the waves of irritation coming off of Kravitz’s broad back.
As they go deeper into the ballroom, the crows perched in the rafters start cawing. It’s a loud, boisterous noise that ruptures any sense of merriment the court has. What was quiet laughter is now still silence, eyes watching the Grim Reaper lead his two trainees and an unquiet soul to the Raven Queen. Julia straightens her back, her fist tightening. It’s only when she tilts her chin upwards does a holy force strike at her, burning at her eyes. Julia just barely manages to hold back a swear, bowing her head as if in reverence as she tries to blink the colorful spots from her eyes. From the floor, she can see her dazed reflection staring back at her.
Kravitz’s feet stops. She feels Barry and Lup stop as well, and it only takes her a moment longer to follow their lead. Blinking rapidly, she watches as Kravitz lowers into a one-knee kneel. This time, she’s prepared to join Lup and Barry in that as well, keeping her head low as she braces a hand on the ground. She doesn’t know much about gods, but bards use to say that the gods who speak to heroes often come with a blinding light. And, as her vision continues to cloud and spot, she hates how that’s not an exaggeration.
“My queen,” Kravitz says. “Please excuse the interruption.”
A voice that sounds like the whistle of wind through bare autumn trees and the dust that settles on a gravestone replies: Kravitz, my Grim Reaper. One mustn’t presume the capability of surprising a god, though the formality is appreciated and reflects well upon your disposition. I see that you have brought before me your charges.
“My queen,” Barry and Lup intone, sounding more serious than either have been so far. Julia wants to give Lup a sideways glance to see what kind of expression is on her face, but the Raven Queen’s voice shutters through her bones and chills her blood, making it hard to move.
“The assistance I seek from you does not involve my charges, but rather a problem whose solution is far above my position,” Kravitz says.
You have brought a soul before me.
“Julia Burnsides. She’s—”
What you seek from me is not a solution, but rather an exception to be made with the rules of life and death.
“My queen.” Julia can hear the tightness in Kravitz’s face, as if he’s wincing through his words. “Excuse my being bold—”
Do you have the right to be so brash? Will you be putting your existence on the line for one more soul, even as the two liches you saved stand as witness? What more will you be putting at risk, my Grim Reaper? What more have you to lose? What say you?
Kravitz takes a deep breath. “No, my queen. I will not personally be placing myself at risk.”
Then you should not speak for the soul. Let her air her grievances for the laws of life herself. Kravitz starts to say something, but the otherworldly voice cuts him off. If she dares to place herself before the cutting block, then she should proclaim her own will. Your boldness, my Grim Reaper, is as valuable to me now as quill ink to the unlearned.
Kravitz shifts in his bow. “I understand.”
Rise, Julia Burnsides.
The spots leave her vision, and the chill encasing her limbs slip away. Julia releases a long breath, feeling her chest rise and fall. The raven in her hair pecks her skull, then she remembers to rise back to her feet.
The Raven Queen’s throne is made from black stone, reflective and shiny like new crystals. Ravens of all shapes perch on every unused surface, their shed feathers covering the floor like a thick carpet. An ethereal light shines with no clear source illuminates the giant figure on the throne. The goddess is easily thrice Julia’s height, her thin limbs looking closer to a corpse than a living woman. Her gown is breathtaking. Layers upon layers of somber-hued fabric piled and ruffled on top of one another, a large hoop circle giving her artificial hips. Gems and bows decorate her corset, rising up her chest to where a ruffled collar covers her neck. The skull of a raven sits over her face, the beak protruding outwards as the bone covers any human facial features. A complicated veil flows from the crown on top of the skull, cascading downwards in a sheer fabric that sparkles like moonlight.
She’s terrifying to look at. Terrifying and beautiful. It steals Julia’s breath away, only for a second. Then she presses a hand to her chest and bows her head in a sign of respect. “Your majesty.”
It’s not the greeting the reapers gave, but Julia doesn’t think she’s allowed to use it. The second it takes for the Raven Queen to look her over is the longest in her life, her hand pressing closer to her chest as she waits for a sign to look up. Respect becomes you, Julia Burnsides, the Raven Queen says at last. Though I ordered you to rise, did I not?
Julia lifts her head, every nerve on fire. “Yes, your majesty.”
I see your tale with the same ease I spectate over my domain.
She nods.
Be wise, Julia Burnsides. That is your invitation to speak your case so that I may spectate over your cause. Respect becomes you, but let it not conquer and make one the fool.
“Of course. Sorry, your majesty.” From the corner of her eye, she can see Lup shift in her stance, resisting the urge to speak up. Julia tries to stand a little taller, but a bit of fear spikes in her gut. This isn’t facing off against Kalen, or asking the love of her life to marry her. What she says now will determine the fate of her soul. “I can’t be at peace any longer. I know that this goes against your, um, everything, but I just can’t. Not anymore.”
The Raven Queen makes a noise that could be called a chuckle. Acknowledging the trespasses you request of me is not a convincing argument.
“Well, how am I supposed to convince you?” Julia feels the tension in the ballroom shift, the raven on her head squawking. Her tone is wrong, laced with all her pent up frustration. She knows she should care that even bird perched on the Raven Queen’s throne is glaring at her, that the beak of the skull mask is tilting upwards, but she doesn’t. She just spits out the words as quickly as she can: “This whole place is just nuts. There’s inoculators and desk jobs and reapers and family I didn’t know I even had. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know anything about how the laws of this place works! And, honestly, I don’t understand why you’re making me go through all this torture of having to argue with a freaking god when you know everything already. Honestly, if you want me to have some kind of fighting chance with this, you would’ve let the Grim-freaking-Reaper argue my case. Cause he knows what to say to you. I don’t. I just woke up.”
“Julia,” Kravitz hisses, low enough that he can imagine that only she hears.
Mind your position, Julia Burnsides. The goddess’s voice is different, rumbling low and deep like a black hound’s growl. Mortal man may not smite the wicked, but you are not in the presence of mortals.
“Mind you,” Julia replies. “That you are in the presence of a mortal.”
The ballroom is deathly still.
And Julia, because one she already has one foot through the door and she figures she might as well shove the other in, says, “What say you?”
The Raven Queen rises, the ravens on her throne flapping in her wake. Looming, she casts a dark shadow over Julia. I cannot grant you renewed life on any plane of existence. You know not what you seek. You tell my reapers you cannot stand being at peace, but no other soul in existence has ever risen from the depths of the sea. You say you just woke up, as if you are the victim of your own foolhardiness, but that rings untrue.
She raises a silencing hand. Julia doesn’t even know that she was going to object until she sees it. But what you seek is nonetheless what you seek. Be warned, the prize you want will not come easy. Failure will gain you nothing but a terrible fate.
“I understand,” Julia says.
There is a soul much like yours. It is not at rest for it lingers in the deepest depths of the Eternal Stockade. The crimes it committed will ensure that it will never be at peace. For you, three opportunities will be presented. Convince this soul that you are deserving of the fate it was not able to achieve, and I will grant you the existence you seek. Fail, and I will erase your soul from all existence.
“What the fuck!” Lup and Barry jump to their feet the same time Kravitz jerks from his bow, saying, “Wait, my queen—”
My reapers will be wise to know their place.
“This is family!” Lup shouts, daring to take the steps necessary to stand between her and the Raven Queen. “You can’t—”
Know your position, Lup. Your interment in my court is not yet secured.
“Yeah, so? This is still bull—” Barry grabs both of Lup's arms, yanking her back before she can say anything more. Julia can hear him urging her to calm down, to remember that they’re still in the presence of a god.
Lup shoves him away and races back to the spot between Julia and the Raven Queen. “You can’t do that. I’ll be equity—whatever you call it. I’ll put myself on the line.”
“Lup,” Julia says. “Don’t.”
Lup looks back at her, a glare hot on her brow. Above, the Raven Queen makes an amused noise. One may observe when their compassion is wanted, dear Lup. Step back now, before you make yourself more unwelcomed.
For a brief second, Lup turns that ugly scowl onto the Raven Queen before shooting it back at Julia. Her boots stomp on the ground when she marches back to Julia’s side.
Her hand grabs Julia’s, twining their fingers together with such a powerful grasp that Julia can’t feel the blood circulate in her hand. She looks up at Lup and sees her staring resolutely ahead, as if to challenge toe goddess to a fight.
“My queen,” Kravitz says, stepping forward. “I beg you to reconsider. Only the souls of those who dare to not only defy, but defile the sacred laws of life and death are ever erased. Julia doesn’t deserve this.”
My Grim Reaper, you are but young yet. Her very presence here in my court is defilement enough.
“But—”
Do not play the fool anymore, dear Kravitz. Especially when it is a role you are not aware of playing. She turns her attention back to Julia. At her side, Lup shifts as her grip tightens. But we are wasting time. It is your agreement that matters most. Will you accept the terms of my offer?
Julia grinds her teeth. If she were to fail, she’ll be leaving her father alone in the ether. Magnus will die and come to the sea, only to find her not there. There will be the terror of knowing she’s about to stop existing before everything would just stop.
She feels Lup’s grip turn tighter.
But if she were to refuse, she’ll just be delirious in the sea once more. She wouldn't have the scramble of disconnected memories, or even the consciousness know that she'll be spending years waiting to see if Magnus will come to her once more. It's un-existence of a softer kind.
Julia stands with her back a little straighter, making sure that every god in the room knows that she is the woman who toppled a corrupted governor’s rule. She is, above all, to be feared. “You must swear that, no matter what happens, you will do right by me.”
Lup gasps. “What, you’re seriously aren’t—”
The Raven Queen’s head tilts to the side. Have you no faith in a god?
Julia ignores everything else but the goddess before her. “Not when they’re out to get rid of me.”
Julia likes to imagine that the Raven Queen is smiling when she says, Then it is agreed.
“You by far have to be the dumbest person I have ever met.”
Julia rolls her eyes, bracing her hand on the cold stone wall as Kravitz leads her further down the stairs. The Eternal Stockade is an imposing building where the same black stone creates a prison that suffocates all who enter. Julia’s raven, who is more than content to stay nestled in her hair, quivers under its walls, seemingly suffocating under the weighted atmosphere. Kravitz holds a torch in his hand, lifting it high in the air in some vain attempt to illuminate the steps of the tight spiral leading downwards, twirling deeper into the dark depths of the dungeon. The turn is so tight that Julia can only see half of Kravitz before her and half of Barry behind her. Only Lup’s lace-up boots are visible on the uppermost step before the corner turns sharply once again.
“Well, I did it,” Julia says, hoping her words are as sharp in Kravitz’s back as they are falling off her tongue. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
From behind, Lup’s voice cuts through the echoes of the stairwell. “Skeletor’s right, dumbass. If I wasn’t pissed at you, I’d bother to remind you that you still have Magnus waiting for you!”
“Babe,” Barry says evenly. “Don’t pick a fight.”
“I’ll fight who I want. Just watch.”
A horrid taste rises up her throat, but Julia swallows it back and focuses instead on her footing. “I’m not going to abandon Magnus.”
“We’re not saying you are,” Barry says. “But, like, you have to admit that the chances of you managing to outsmart a goddess is downright slim.”
“And like, full offense, but thinking you will is just fucking nuts.” Through the fog of her anger, Lup manages to laugh. “Whatever this is going to be, it’s doomed to screw you over. You know that. Like, shit. Here I was thinking you were the one who reigned back Magnus’s raging dumbness.”
Julia scowls. “You’re really calling him dumb?”
“Dumber than a pound of bricks that’s been hit by feeblemind.”
Before Julia can reply, Barry leans forward and nudges her shoulder. “Look, uh, I know that this is rich coming from me, but don’t take anything Lup’s saying too seriously. She’s just worried about you.”
“Stop spreading lies about me, Barold!”
Barry looks tired. “Very, very worried.”
Julia grimaces. “Well, tell Lup not to worry too hard. It doesn’t—” She turns up her nose, trying to sound as high and prissy as she can manage. “—Become her position.”
She hears Lup stop dead in her tracks. A second later, she roars with laughter, her hand smacking the stone with her effort. Barry just smiles and snorts. Small successes.
“I’m sure her majesty appreciates you both for mocking her in her own domain,” Kravitz says. “Let us pray that she chooses to interpret doing ‘right by you’ to not be an excuse for some merciful euthanasia.” They’re finally at the bottom of the staircase, a solidary metal door reflecting the torchlight back. Kravitz stops, turning back a little to look at all three of them. “I can’t open it.”
Lup crouches, straining her neck to spy a look at the door. “You didn’t even try.”
“Don’t need to. I know how the astral plane responds. I’m not meant to go in there.”
“So I have to go in by myself?” Julia says.
“The best trials are meant to be done alone,” Kravitz says.
“C’mon! Bend the rules a bit,” Lup says. “Stop being a nerd.”
Kravitz scowls. “I can’t just—actually? No. I’m not getting into this argument right now.” He steps aside, holding out an arm to frame the door. “Here’s to your first try.”
A shot of fear pushes up her spine, but Julia pushes it so far down that she can pretend that she’s brave enough to do this. Memories of Magnus in the early morning, carving wood on the porch as a hazy sun colors a foggy morning fills her, and she’s suddenly sure that all of this is a terrible mistake. Distantly, she sees Lup make the same scrutinizing face she made before, and it’s enough to spur her onwards. She steps past Kravitz and places her hand on the metal handle. It’s ice cold for a moment, then warms to her touch.
“Good luck,” Barry says. She looks back and sees his clumsy thumbs up as Lup leans down on his head. “You got this.”
Julia gives him a thumb’s up in return, then turns the knob. The door swings open with no noise, giving away silently to the threshold of a pitch black room. Julia sticks her hand inside, and she swears that the darkness is tangible. Her fingers curls up, hand tightening into a fist. Then, with the blood humming in her temples, she walks inside.
Blackness swallows her.
The door clangs shut behind her, sounding miles away.
She doesn’t feel like she’s moving, but then she sees a lighted area ahead. So she goes towards it. The closer she gets, the more clearly she can see the concrete floor and walls, stained from years of water abuse. A wood chair sits empty, inviting her to take a seat in front of an iron gate slicing through the lighted space. Julia runs her hand over the grain. It’s simple, laughably so. Yet the feeling of wood is a comfort to the pads of her fingers.
A throat clears— polite and succinct.
Julia jumps, hands going up to throw a punch. On the other side of the bars is a simple cot where an older man sits. Gray haired, he straightens his back as he stares wide-eyed at her. He wears a suit that could have once been considered tailored, but now hangs off his boney shoulders in frumpy bags. He’s pale and gaunt as he clears his throat again, a hand massaging his neck as he tries to make his vocal cords work. He does this for a while before finally folding his hands on his lap. “I’m sorry about that,” he says hoarsely. “It’s just—it’s just been so long since I’ve said anything to anyone.”
Julia looks between him and the darkness surrounding them. It’s like his prison cell has been cut from a larger picture, and the darkness only shrouds the jagged edges from view. “Okay?”
He extends a hand to the plain chair. “Please take a seat. It’s, uh, it’s also been a while since I’ve had a guest.”
“How long?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Must be since I was put here.”
Julia sits. His face is familiar, though she’ll be damned before she’ll ever be able to explain how. “I’m sorry for that.”
He grimaces. “But I’m forgetting myself—I’m John, by the way. At least, I think that’s my name. It’s possible that too has been lost to me.”
“Um, I think that’s a good name?” She winces. In all her years, she was never good at talking to people. Even around the familiar faces of Raven’s Roost she saw her whole life, she could never shatter that invisible barrier separating her from everyone else. She had a voice—and she loved to use it—but every word she said was foggier than the last as speeches turned into incoherent rambles consisting of several barely-relevant topics. There was a reason why she spent the early days of the rebellion acting while Magnus went door to door rallying. He never had problems saying what people needed to hear.
“I’m flattered you think so.” The corners of John’s eyes crinkle. “And your name is…”
“Julia.”
He laughs a little. “You know, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say if I ever saw another person again, but now I’m just finding myself speechless. But I guess you don’t really care about anything I have to say. You’re just one of the Raven Queen’s servants.”
“I’m not, actually.” Julia scoots forward in her chair. “I’m actually just, you know, dead. I’m not working for her or anything.”
He frowns. “Is that so?”
She tells him her story, of how she heard a song in the waters that made her know that she wanted something else from her afterlife. John listens with an attentive ear as she talks about meeting the Grim Reaper, and consequently the Raven Queen. “And all I need now is just to convince you that I should get it,” she finishes. She tries her prettiest smile. The fact that he’s taking her speech so seriously, that he seems like a nice enough guy, gives her this sense of hope she hasn’t let herself feel yet. “Just give it the okay, John. Just say it and I’m free.”
He’s quiet. Then he points to the spot in front of the bars. “Do you mind if I sit there?” She hardly gives a confused yes when he moves, sitting on the ground with crossed legs. Julia looks between him and the surrounding darkness before rising from her chair and sitting across from him. A pair of iron bars frames either side of his face. “Can I ask you who your husband is?”
“His name’s Magnus.”
He nods, mulling it over. Then he says, “I don’t think you know who I am. If you did, I think you’ll see how twisted this game is.”
She strains to keep her smile up. “Just say the word. That’s all you have to do.”
“I’m the—” He stops himself. Then he changes direction. “Humor me for a second. Do you think it’s fair that the Raven Queen is putting you through this?”
“What?”
“Think about it—you are a being whose entire livelihood is determined by the will of beings that say that they’re greater than you. When you were alive, it’s all the gods in this universe dictating what you need to do to avoid their wrath—and one god’s directions may even contradict another’s. Whose law do you follow then? But then there’s the Raven Queen. Once you’re dead, your afterlife is limited to what she says. And she says that she wants you to be in the sea. You said it best: once there, it’s like you’re numb and delirious. What law says that she has to be in control? Who created her and gave her authority over what happens to everyone? What happens to you?”
“That’s just—” Her head swirls, trying to parse his meaning together. “I don’t know. That’s just how it’s always been?”
“I think that’s the most dangerous thing someone can say—that it’s always been that way, so you shouldn’t change it.”
“Okay? Um…” Julia throws her hands into the air. “You’re literally talking about gods and stuff.”
“But wouldn’t it be better if you could decide how your world should work?” He says kindly. “The universe doesn’t care about you, Julia. It doesn’t care about what happens to any of us.”
“Yeah, and?”
He meets her eyes. “Why can’t it? Why can’t we decide these things? Why do we have to be victims of fate? Why do we need to suffer? If we don’t change how all of existence is like, then we’re just damning ourselves to live lives of misery.”
“John.” Julia wraps her hands on the bars, leaning in. “Seriously. Just give me your word.”
He doesn’t flinch, letting her face get in close. “Are you saying that you don’t care if the world doesn’t care about you?”
“I mean, yeah. I guess,” she says. “It is what it is, and when I was alive I made it work for me.”
“Yes, yes. The rebellion.”
Julia scrunches her face. Hearing him say that feels weird, though she’s not sure why.
“I don’t think you could’ve lived your whole life without feeling at least some bit of despair I’m describing,” John continues. “You must be brimming with it right now, considering the situation you’re in.”
She makes a noise and shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m okay.”
“Then why do you care about whether or not you go into the sea?”
Julia gives him a blank stare.
“You do feel despair”
“I don’t—”
“You’re scared of death.” He shakes his head. “No. That’s not right.” He reaches forward, his hand wrapping around hers, keeping her pinned to the bars. She starts to pull hers back, but his grip tightens in a way that is so soft and warm that she just wants to hang on, just for a little longer. It makes her think of the way Magnus pressed flowers into her hand—bunches of lavender with soft grayish leaves. It’s that thought that makes her start trying to tug away.
All the while, John is unrelenting. “I think I know what it is. The song—you said your husband is in it. That’s who you’re worried about losing.”
She yanks her hands free, scrambling so that she’s far back as possible. Her temples pound with the panic flushing through her veins.
John folds his hands back over his lap. “You do feel despair.”
“This is stupid,” Julia says.
“Don’t pretend now.”
“This isn’t anything about anything.” She snarls. “Just give me your word.”
“Julia—”
“I don’t care about all this stupid despair stuff. The world sucks. Live with it and move on with your life, dumbass. Just give me your word so that I can get a move on with my life.”
John takes a deep breath, then looks like he’s about to say something. Then he stops himself. His brow quirks. “Are you positive you don’t understand my position?”
She growls, “I don’t care.”
“And you refuse to care?”
“John.”
He smiles something soft and small. “Actually, Julia. You’re right. I should just give your my decision.”
She pauses, feeling the speedy rhythm in her chest change to one of relief. “Wait, really?”
“You aren’t going to get your undead existence.”
“What?” Lunging forwards, she snatches the iron bars back into her hands, shaking them as if she can rip them away. “You can’t just—”
He meets her gaze coolly—icy and sharp. “This is how despair feels like, Julia.”
“This is my life you’re playing with!” she shouts, slamming her palms on the bars. The metal vibrates with a harsh note.
He doesn’t even flinch. He tilts his chin upwards, and suddenly his frumpy suit seems freshly tailored to his decaying body. “I’ll see you again soon. Then we’ll talk about what in the world needs to change.”
Then she’s back at the door, her hand on the handle as the metal cools under her touch. She gets a moment to realize she’s back at the bottom of the spiral staircase, her eyes wide as the weight of her raven settles on her head again. Even though it’s already closed, the bang of the door swinging shut breaks the silent air.
“Ah!” Lup is sitting in the steps, the noise jolting her awake. She yawns, stretching her arms above her head like a languid cat. “’ello. You were in there for a while.”
Julia looks between Lup and the door, John’s self-assured mien burning in her mind. “That motherfucker.”
Lup balances her hand on her chin. Her hair is longer now, tied into a low ponytail that causes her stringy curls to fan out like a palm leaf. “Didn’t go well?”
Her raven coos a low note, the vibrations soothing her scalp. Still, Julia can’t help but to curl her lip and bang her shoulder into the door.
“Hey, chillax.” A little bit of magic helps Lup float to her feet, the fiery red sparks dancing along the trim of her black uniform as she grabs Julia’s shoulder and yanks her back. “Hey! Wait a second—”
Julia pushes down on the handle, and the door swings open again. She hears Lup shout for her to stop before the darkness swallows her whole.
In a second, she’s once again at the edge of the light, only a few steps from the plain chair and an even longer stride from the prison bars. John hasn’t even moved from his place on the ground. He just sees her and raises another curious, salt-and-pepper brow. “Understand now?” he asks.
“What the fuck!” Julia marches into the light, towering over him as she cracks her knuckles. “All you had to do was give me your word—”
John shakes his head. “My answer is still no. Come back when you can talk to me about despair.”
Again, Julia is shoved back into the spiral staircase—her raven retaking its place in her hair, Lup shouting in surprise and the metal door clanging shut. “What the hell!”
This time, when she goes to barge through the door again, Lup wraps her arms around Julia’s middle and holds her back. “Hold it, cowboy! Don’t be stupid! C’mon!”
Julia twists and turns, grunting as she jams her hands over Lup’s and bears her weight on them. Lup’s grip only tightens, pulling her back with hesitant steps. “C’mon!” Lup shouts. “Think of Magnus!”
The echoes of a memory not of her own fills her brain—Magnus, rushing in again and again to certain death. The breezy way he shucks away everyone’s concern at the start of a new year. The same six faces painted in hues of sorrow laced with frustration.
Lup stumbles backwards up the first few steps of the spiral staircase, dragging Julia’s body up with her. Julia cranes back and sees the same expression twisting Lup’s face into something new. “You’ve literally been in there for months. Chill out and take a break.”
Julia knows it wasn’t anywhere close to being that long, but she thinks that might be the point. Time has no meaning to the dead, but Lup—with her longer hair and steady patience—straddles the line between being alive and not. There’s meaning in that.
Julia feels like she’s been struck over the head, the very idea of what’s happening leaving her slack in Lup’s arms as the woman drags her away.
“We don’t really use this place much,” Lup says as the red sparks of her magic jumps from her hands to the silver knob of a wood door. The distinct clicking of a lock undoing echoes down the empty hallway lined with plenty of other wood doors. It’s as stark and intimidating as the rest of the astral plane, and Julia would be spooked out of her skin if she didn’t see a reaper with hair rollers and bunny slippers struggling to open their own door. “We’d rather spend our days off on the material plane with all our friends instead of dorming like it’s college, y’know?”
Julia nods, arms wrapped around herself as a chill inches down her spine. “Sure.”
Lup looks at her for a moment, as if to check to see if Julia’s really there, before pushing the door open. “Yeah, so it’s kinda empty in here. Not much going on.”
Inside is a simple living room and kitchen combo, complete with an impressive stone fireplace that lights up upon Lup’s arrival. Unlike every other place in the Astral Plane, the walls are painted a plain white and the floor is a homely brown wood—livable, if not simply sparse. “Sit,” Lup says, pointing to a couch that can’t decide if it’s comfy or not. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea.” Julia sits as close to the fire as she can, the orange heat warming her skin. Bumps run up and down her spine, reminding her that this is the first time in years her body has felt any kind of heat. As if responding to her thoughts, a crocheted blanket appears on the cushion next to her. She wraps it around her, trying to sap as much heat back into her body as she can.
When she feels her raven jump off her head, flying around the room before deciding to perch on the fireplace mantel, Julia realizes that it too is as cold as everything else in the land of the dead. It’s the one constant since she washed up on the beach, and it’s heart doesn’t even beat.
Does her heart beat?
She presses her hand to her chest. Then she moves her hand to her other side and presses down harder. Her fingers go to her neck, and she finds the spot where her veins pulse to the timing of her heart, but it’s as still at everything else in this world.
Her gut welters.
“I should get you some actual clothes,” Lup says, placing two steaming cups of tea on the coffee table. She skirts her eyes over the blanket and fireplace, seeing Julia shiver. “But—I mean, I shouldn’t leave you alone.”
“Where’s Barry and Kravitz?”
“Barold’s out on some necromancy bust and Kravitz’s stone is off because he’s having a date night with Taako.”
“Your brother,” Julia says.
Lup nods, taking her own mug to sip at. “Yup. The dingbag himself.”
Julia tries for a smile. Her cheeks ache. “Um, I think I remember something about him and Magnus being dumbasses.”
“Ugh, that’s putting it lightly.” Lup throws herself onto the couch, the cushions sinking under her weight as she throws her hands into the air. “You put them and Merle into a room together and you’re just asking for disaster. And somehow—somehow those three numskulls are the ones who managed to save the goddamn universe. You know, one time there was a cycle where the three of them got separated from us for like a week and when we found them, they’d manage to convince the natives that they were gods. And Taako had the audacity to try to convince them that I was the false prophet!”
Julia laughs.
“Don’t laugh! I almost got sacrificed!”
“It’s at least a little funny.” The tea is maybe a little too hot for drinking, but Julia relishes in feeling the hot liquid flush down her throat and warm her stomach. “So, there was this winter supply caravan going straight to Kalen’s mansion. So Magnus and I figured we’d take a couple of pals and just take anything the town needed.”
“As you do.”
“Yeah. And we’re doing that, and Magnus gets the brilliant idea he’s going to release the horses while he’s at it. They’re spooked, I say. That’s a bad idea. But he’s already doing it, and the horse not only knocks him on his ass, but dumps a big one on his face.”
Lup cracks up laughing. “Holy shit. You know I’m going to bring that up during Candlenights.”
Another wave of something churns through her gut, this time spreading outwards and into the veins crisscrossing through her chest. She holds her mug closer to herself. “Lup?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s Magnus like?”
Lup blinks, owlish as she tries to process what’s even being asked. “You married him.”
“I married a Magnus,” she says, sounding more bitter than she wants. “I don’t know this Magnus. Your Magnus. The real—” She stops herself.
Lup looks uncomfortable. “I mean—I guess?” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “The Magnus I knew on the Starblaster is a completely different Magnus than the one I met once I got out of the umbrella. Everyone was different then—especially him. He changed so much and I think you’re the only person who saw it happen, y’know?”
Whatever that something in her gut is, it’s starting to fester in a way that makes her stiff and flinching all at once.
Lup must see it on her face, since the woman starts drumming her fingers on the side of her mug. “So, uh, he has a dog training school now.”
“Dog training,” she echoes. She’s allergic to dogs, so they were never able to adopt a one themselves. She can picture him in some wood cottage surrounded by more dogs than any one person should reasonably own.
“Yeah. For like pets or service or even just therapy.” Lup smiles a little. “He always has someone over. Angus, Taako, Carey—me and Barry, whenever we can.”
Julia thinks about how their workshop in Raven’s Roost always laid home to some guest—a fellow craftsman on break, a few children who’ve lived there their whole lives. The people who made Raven’s Roost home, forming a family for Magnus when he had none.
But he didn’t have none.
He was one of seven.
The same billowing unease stretches through her whole body. Ugly and raw, gnawing at her insides until she can feel the blood squelch in her muscles and the acidic bile threatening to rise up her throat. Because the Magnus she knows is an incomplete picture. She doesn’t know what her husband is really like.
And if she fucks this up, she never will.
“Shit.” Julia sets her mug aside, dragging her hand through her hair. “I really fucked this one up.”
Lup makes an uncommitted noise. “I mean, yeah. Making that deal was stupid. Wasting your second try was stupider. But that’s just that.” Her hand falls onto Julia’s. Both of their skins are cold to the touch, none of life’s warmth pulsing in their veins. “You still got a shot.”
Julia shrugs. She can feel Lup studying her, brows knit as she searches her face for something. “Well, we’ll try.”
“That’s the spirit. So who is the one and only Raven Queen keeping down in her basement?”
“Just some guy named John.”
Lup makes a face. “Bad name.”
“Badder guy. Basically told me that I could piss off since I wasn’t down for his whole despair speech.”
Lup perks up, ears twitching to attention. “That... that doesn’t sound right.”
Julia sits up. “What?”
“I mean, it shouldn’t be right. He should be in his plane. Not this one.”
“Hey. My life’s on the line here. You know this guy?”
“It’s probably nothing.” Lup winces at his own words. “But that does sound a lot like the guy behind the Hunger.”
Julia gives her a blank look.
“Y’know, the Hunger. Big scary thing we fought back against for a century.”
She frowns. “Yeah, I know about that.” Another twisted sense of dread sows deep in her chest. “But it can’t be him, right?”
Lup glares up at the raven perched on the mantelpiece, sticking two fingers into her mouth to make an ear-piercing whistle. “Hey! You wanna give us some exposition, pal?”
Her raven caws, loud and long like a human scream.
Lup swears up a storm, covering her ears as she gives the bird a sharp look. “Okay, okay. I get it. Shut it.” She turns her hard look onto Julia. “So I’ve been told to keep my mouth shut on everything.”
“Fuck. What?” Julia stretches out her arm, and her raven flaps to its new perch immediately. The weight is a comfort, and she can’t help but to think that she could’ve kept her cool better when she was talking to John if she had her raven with her. She holds the raven up for scrutiny, peering at its sharp gray eyes. “Why’d you tell her that?”
Lup doesn’t even bother trying to hide her snicker. “No, uh. That’s not how the ravens here work. They’re like little assistants. They’ll get us scrolls and send messages, especially ones from her majesty.”
“A spy from the enemy.”
“You got that right.” Lup’s ears jump upright again and she blinks as her brain settles on another thought. “Okay, uh, great banter we were having and all that jazz. Love it. But, uh, let’s just rewind that tape for a second and go back to the Raven Queen having Johnny McVoreMan from Starvation Central in her goddamn basement?”
It takes Julia a moment to parse together what exactly Lup is saying. “I mean, you just said it can’t actually be him.”
“Maybe there’s just more than one John out in the universe.”
“I mean, this John got this whole shtick about how the universe being unfair and all this despair—” Julia stops herself, the unpleasant humming under her skin becoming more prominent by the second. Despair. That’s what this is. John wanted her to feel his despair, and now it’s infected her.
Lup flings herself onto the other end of the couch, face down as she groans. “That actually sounds like him!”
Julia mutters something about this being her luck, about to take another gulp of her tea when she feels her raven shift on the arm. She meets its gray eyes for a moment before shaking it away. It flaps through the air, cawing something she doesn’t understand before landing by the window. Julia turns her attention away from it for a moment, but then little tink-tinks fill the air. Her raven taps its beak against the glass, somehow louder than Lup’s muffled monologue about everything there is to know about John into the cushion.
Julia sets her mug aside, wrapping her blanket closer to her frame as she approaches the window. The world outside is still as gray as it always had—no passage of night or day apparent in the sky. Beyond a small rocky beach is the Sea of Souls, the various orbs of souls bobbing under the waves.
Her raven makes a short caw, pecking at the window again.
She undoes the latch, pushing the swinging panes open and into the cold air of the outside world. A shiver runs through her whole body, each bump on her skin feeling like a punch to the stomach.
Somewhere behind her, she hears Lup lift her head to ask why it’s so cold.
The raven flies out the window, black-feather wings spanning through the air as it coasts down to the beach stories below. It lands on a particular wet rock and caws at her. Then, when it knows she’s watching, it hops into the water, letting the green water lap around its twig legs. It cries out for her to come down and join it at the sea.
Her head feels empty without its comforting weight, and for a moment Julia’s tempted to climb out the window and join it on the shore. It gave her clothes when she first came here, then food and someone to help her.
“Whatcha looking at?”
And Lup has given her food and help and more love from a family she obviously doesn’t deserve.
Julia grabs the two glass panes, closes them shut, then locks the latch back in place. She rests her hand over the cold glass, thinking over the sprinkling of her plan one last time. She feels a thumping in her chest, and she’s not sure if that’s her heart finally beating back to life or not. “I have an idea.”
Lup is standing not three feet from her, the concern washing from her face instantly. “Yeah, same here. Get this—there’s no time limit to your whole deal. We could just keep you here and put off your last little visit until you’re ready to, um—I mean, it’s not perfect, but Barry and I don’t use this place much so you can just stay here—”
At first, Julia doesn’t say anything. She wanders away from the window, trying to picture a life in the apartment. Seems solidary, spoiled by the idea that it’ll only end when she wants to be erased forever. “No. I can’t do that.”
She goes to the fireplace, trailing her hand along the mantelpiece. She thinks about her raven at the edge of the sea, calling for her to enter the waters. The man at the bottom of the Eternal Stockade, how he shouldn’t even be there to begin with. The dwarf who first found her at the beach, the piece of lavender sitting on her desk, inviting her to take it.
And none of it makes sense—not in the way gods are usually incomprehensible to mortals. Kravitz made it sound like wagers and bets were common in the death business, yet everything was perfectly placed. The flower to remind her of her wedding, the bird who she’s supposed to trust, the one man in any universe who could say no to her plead. “Motherfucker…”
Julia turns to Lup, beleaguered as she gives a little laugh. “Hey, so we’re being tricked right now.”
“I mean, yeah. She’s a goddess. You can’t win against a god.”
“No, I can.” Julia turns and gives her a crooked smile. “I just need one thing. One thing, then I’ll win.”
Lup stares at her for a moment, then her mouth twists into a similar grin. “Alright. What’s the plan?”
The moment she and Lup step out of the portal to the Inductor’s Hall, her raven tries to swoop down onto her head. “No, shoo!” Julia shouts, covered her mass of hair with one hand as the other waves the bird away. “Shoo! Git!”
Lup seals the portal back up behind them, her boots crunching rocks on the beach as they stare up at the black building, a design that’s starting to become less imposing the more Julia’s sees it. “Hell yeah.” She dashes the few yards to the imposing doors, waving her hands around the ancient wood. “Do you think I can kick it open?”
“You do you,” Julia says, taking a much slower pace towards it.
Lup takes a few steps back, gears up her limbs, then takes a running start at it. Her foot barely hits the center of the doors before she suddenly disappears. Julia swears, breaking into a run. “Lup!”
When she gets to the door, her hands only need the lightest of touches before she fazes through to the other side. The same hall of desks greats it, filled to the brim with black-robed inductors with various souls sitting before them. Lup is on the ground, sprawled out as she stares up at the ceiling. “That could’ve gone better,” she says.
“What do you think was going to happen?” Julia asks.
“I mean, when you put it like that…”
She snorts. “That’s what you get for rushing in big—” She stops, catching the nickname before it’s too late. She shakes her head, a little chuckle in her throat, before reaching down and helping Lup to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
Down the line of desks they go, Lup’s reaper uniform attracting the attention of more than one inductor. A few of the newer souls who sees her drops their mouths and start asking how one of the seven birds could be dead. Lup preens. Despite the commotion their very presence causes, the dwarf Julia’s looking doesn’t see them approaching, too focused on her cigar and scroll to look up.
There, at the corner of the desk, sits a translucent green bottle with a single sprig of lavender sticking out. Julia nudges Lup’s side and points to the dwarf. That’s all the convincing Lup needs to march right up to the desk, summoning her scythe with a fantastic display of red sparks. “Hey, you!” She arcs her blade through the air in a fancy maneuver that sticks the blade of the scythe right into the desk.
The hall breaks with noise—people shouting while others scurry away from whatever fury a reaper of the Raven Queen is dealing. The dwarf herself startles, scrambling back as the cigar drops from her mouth. “What the—”
Lup throws a foot onto the desk, leaning into her bent knee to make the perfect picture of intimidation. “I got a few choice words for you from the Grim Reaper.”
The dwarf’s brows knit together, the shock leaving her face. Her eyes drift to the left, spying Julia as she tries to subtly make her way to the corner of the desk. “You ready to go back to the sea, sugar?”
Lup leans further into the desk, giving a toothy grin as she tries to steal the dwarf’s attention away from Julia. “Listen. I hate having to pull this card, but we can either settle this one-on-one or I can drag the Raven Queen herself into this. And who do you think she’s going to side with? Her grim reaper or some nameless inductor?”
To her credit, the dwarf only huffs. “Alright, alright. What does the Grim Reaper want?”
A distinct cawing sounds in the air, and Julia looks up to see her raven circling the air above them before swooping down onto the desk. It stands mere inches from the flower, guarding it with a cool gray eye. When Julia tries to reach for the stem of lavender, the bird juts forward and stabs its beak into her hand. She yelps and jumps away.
“So, get this,” Lup says, “there’s a soul locked up at the bottom of the Eternal Stockade. This soul isn’t even in this planar system to bat. And, if that’s not already bad, the Grim Reaper doesn’t have any information on where this soul came from or who it is.”
The dwarf only looks unimpressed. “You have a filing issue. Not my problem.”
“So I thought so too. But here’s the thing.” Lup starts to reach for the sprig of lavender. Only, when her fingers gets close, the raven does more than just caw and peak. Its beak bites down on her finger, causing her to hiss and pull back. The bird hangs on, limp in the air as its bite only gets tighter.
The splatters of blood on the stone ground is like a slap to the face. Except, while Julia expects to see deep shades of wine red on the black surface, there’s only a sloppy white substance. Like slime, it leaks from the wound in Lup’s hand, plopping to the ground with an audible noise. Her face screws up with pain, crying out as her other hand's grip on her scythe gets tighter and tighter. Around her palm, the sparks of her red magic is starting to look more like the embers of a flame, ready to burst.
Julia lunges for the flower, only to find the curved blade of a scythe aiming right for where her neck is. She reels back, her hands impulsively reaching for a sword that’s not there. The dwarf, now standing on the other side of her desk, arcs her own scythe through the air, her bearded face evaporating away in favor of a bleached white skull. “C’mon sugar,” the skeleton says. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Fuck!” With a blast of flames, Lup manages to shoot the raven away, sending its smoking body skidding across the smooth ground. Where its beak had been, white slime still sloshes off, revealing beneath her skin a skeleton finger. Lup swears, taking a handful of her reddish uniform and wrapping her finger around in it. “Mother of—”
The skeleton dwarf takes another swipe at Julia. The human lunges for the ground, dodging the blow while also hiding herself behind another inductor’s desk. When the scythe is raised into the air, ready to cut her hiding place in half, Lup dislodges her scythe from the dwarf’s desk and catches the bow with a blade of her own. Fire dances around every inch of her body, flaring outwards in wisps of power that highlight every movement. “Over here, short stuff,” she quips before moving her scythe in a fancy movement that not only forces the dwarf’s blade backwards, but also sends her own forward in a deadly jab.
Julia presses her back to the desk, panting as her eyes dart around the room. She can see all the other inductors panicking at this change of events, many scrambling to escort out of the hall with all of the souls they have been trying to help. Julia takes a steadying breath. A weapon. She’s not going to find a sword here, but there has to be something to give her an advantage over a scythe.
A familiar caw sounds right by her ear, and Julia can’t help but to groan before rolling out of the way of the raven’s sharp beak. Papers slide under her hands as she inches backward on the ground, keeping an eye on her raven as it remains perched on the desk she had been hiding behind. It stares straight at her, blocking her way to the lavender sprig.
“C’mon,” Julia says to the raven. “You just said I had to convince—”
The raven flies into the air, diving straight towards her. She ducks out of the way, struggling to her feet as she breaks into a sprint. When it had barreled towards her, she swore that it had grown bigger in size. And, sure enough, when she glances behind, she can see that it’s now the size of a dog and still growing.
She grabs a chair and shoves it behind herself, and its beak stabs that instead of her legs. She jumps right into the middle of Lup and the skeleton dwarf’s scythe battle, ignoring Lup’s shouts of surprise as she manages to jump out of the way of every swipe of the blade and lick of the flame. Julia knows that Lup sees the growing raven when she hears a sharp, “Mother of Pan—fuck!”
A thunderous caw rattles the walls of the hall, sending the black stone vibrating like an earthquake. Julia stumbles, swaying dangerously in one direction before catching herself on a chair and pulling herself upright. She’s mere feet from the lavender sprig now. Julia jumps, swiping the glass bottle and all close to her chest before feeling the beak stab at her arm. She cries out, the force of it pushing her in the other direction. She rolls over the desk, every corner and book punching her back, before she falls off on the other side.
The pain radiating down her arm is indescribable, enough to make her head swim in delirium for a short moment. Then she sees the raven—now the size of a building—loom over her, deadly beak pointed downwards.
She snaps back to herself, rolling to the side right as it shoots downwards. Stone breaks under the force, shattering into shards with a cloud of dust. With one arm clutching the bottle of lavender close to her chest, Julia reaches out the other and grabs one of the shards. She feels the edges cut into her skin, bits of cold blood seeping from her grip, but before the bird can dislodge its beak from the ground, Julia stabs the sharp end of the stone into its eye. The bird screams in a way that’s not natural—so animalistic that it makes Julia’s skin crawl. White slime squirts around the sharp stone.
Keeping the sprig of lavender close to her chest, she sprints towards the exit. “Lup!” she shouts.
Lup’s free hand hovers over the ground for a moment before she brings it upwards, raising a wall of flames between her and the skeleton dwarf. “See ya!” She gives a quick wink and salute before running after Julia. “Just distract her while I take the flower, Lup,” she mocks, causing Julia to snort as they run towards the door. “It’ll be easy my ass!”
Julia’s too breathless to even think of saying anything back.
An ear-shattering caw comes from behind them, and they see the skeleton dwarf has climbed onto the back of the raven, whose eye bleeds the same white slime as Lup. It flaps it hundred-yard span wings, sending gusts of wind in their direction. “Portal!” Julia shouts.
They’re forced to slow down and stop long enough for Lup to rip a portal to a new part of the astral plane. Julia watches the raven launch into the air, jettisoning towards them. Then reality tears apart and Lup grabs the back of her dress and shoves her through.
They’re at the bottom of the spiral staircase, the metal door waiting to be opened. Julia barely gets her bearings before Lup’s hand is on her back and shoving her into the farthest corner, her body pressing Julia right up against the frigid stone. The raven’s giant head shoves through the portal, taking up all the space as it tries to stab its beak into their corner. Back and forth it stabs, occasionally pausing to caw at their faces.
A few jabs make it, and Lup cries out when bits of her skin melt into the white slime, revealing patches of her skeleton for the word to see.
Julia pulls an arm free, extending it past Lup and gets it onto the door. At her touch, it swings open, revealing the all-encasing blackness. “You gotta go in with me,” Julia shouts.
Lup grimaces. “Hate to break it to you, but didn’t Kravitz say—”
“Kravitz isn’t here right now!” Julia grabs Lup’s arm, feeling a mixture of bone and skin under her palm. She waits until the raven is just reeling back before darting forwards into the darkness, dragging Lup in after her.
Then it’s silent.
She stands next to Lup—both panting deep, hard breaths into the stillness of the ever-surrounding blackness. Lup looks down at her, a strained grin on her face. There’s a patch on the side of her jaw where the beak had struck her, and now white slime drips down her skin, revealing bone and teeth. Where the beak had struck her reddish uniform is now a rip large enough to reveal a portion of her skeleton. White stains what remains of her clothes, trickling down her legs and arms before dripping onto the ground. The world around them is black, but Lup stands in a puddle of white.
Wordlessly, Julia’s hand slides down Lup’s arm until they’re holding hands—Lup’s hand is all bone, no muscle or life—fingers entwined. Julia squeezes, and Lup squeezes back. Julia pulls the sprig of lavender from the bottle, dropping the useless glass. She never hears it land. She takes a moment to sniff the flowers, the soothing fragrance filling her nose, before holding it back to her chest. Mute as ever, she tugs on Lup’s hand. Together, they walk deeper into the darkness.
Then they’re at the lighted room, with the same plain chair and the same row of jail bars. John is once again sitting at his cot, his head lifting at the sight of them. He smiles. “You brought a friend.”
“Woah,” Lup says. Julia waits for her to elaborate, to say if this is the real John or not, but Lup only shrugs.
John approaches the bars, his hands wrapping around the metal. “Have you put some thought into what we discussed last time?”
Julia almost snorts. Still holding Lup’s hand, she joins John at the bars. “I did. You really shook me up there.”
“So do you understand what despair is like? How it festers inside us all?”
“I do.” Julia smiles. “Can I give you something?”
John’s brows scrunch together for a moment, then he lets go of one of the bars and threads his hand between them. Julia releases Lup so that he can place the sprig of lavender into his palm with one hand while the other curls his fingers around it.
He laughs a little. “Lavender?”
“It was the flowers for my wedding. And we just went through this big huge fight trying to steal this thing, so you better appreciate it.”
He holds it close to his hand, brows knitting together as he studies the purple petals and gray leaves. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What does this do?”
“It’s just a flower. It doesn’t have anything special about it until I decided it was. Now I look at it and just remember how I love my husband, how much I miss him, how grateful I am that I had him in my life, even for just a little bit. And it reminds me of all the reasons why I want to be awake and alert when I see him again.”
“It’s sentimentality,” John says.
“Yeah. But what I love and who I love is something a god can’t take away from me. You went on about how we can’t decide anything about our lives or existences or whatever. But every time I see a little lavender, I’m just happy. Happy and plenty in love. And I decided that. Maybe, when you were coming up with your whole despair spiel, you forgot to find something like that.”
He gives her a wry look. “That’s a bold statement.”
Julia shrugs. “I just love my family and I want to see my husband again.”
He studies the sprig for a moment, turning it in his fingers as he thinks. “I think I have my decision for you,” he says.
“Before you say it, can I just say something?” Julia smiles. “Remember—you promised that you would do right by me, your majesty.”
The image of John only looks shocked for a moment. Then his head throws back in a laugh. With every boom of his voice, the light grows brighter, encroaching on the darkness until Julia can’t even see the details of the cell anymore. She reaches a hand out, and somehow she finds Lup’s hand searching for hers. “What the hell!” Lup shouts as they hold hands.
The cawing of a raven fills the air, the distant flapping of wings following it. They hear a step, then the giant frame of the Raven Queen is before them—still intimidating in her complicated black garb, face concealed behind both veil and raven skull. Her entourage of black birds not only perch both on her shoulders and arms, but also find various spots on the ground to claim, calling to attention the arrival of the great goddess of death.
Lup flinches, as if she’s about to kneel, but instead her grip tightens on Julia’s hand as she takes a protective step forward.
The Raven Queen holds up a hand. Be at ease, Lup.
Lup looks livid. “Yeah. Um. What the heck is going on?” She turns to look back at Julia. “What did you do?”
Julia can’t find her voice, too scared to know what calling the goddess out on her scheming will actually lead to. She tries to make a face that conveys all that, but before she can get anywhere with it, the Raven Queen speaks up again. There have been many schemes and various trickery at play, but now we’ve reached our final act and the resolutions must be made. Julia Burnsides, you may explain yourself to your sister if you so desire.
Julia makes another face, trying not to notice how Lup’s looking at her like she’s ready to murder someone. “I mean—I just sort of thought about it? You said that John wasn’t supposed to be here, and then I just kind of remembered that it was weird how there was only a bit of lavender on the desk and nothing else. Then the raven starting acting weird and it just kind of clicked into place?”
You were right to realize that I would never allow the forces of life and death to be determined by the greatest threat many universes have ever seen. The Raven Queen holds out her hand, revealing the sprig of lavender. This, however, is a detail I never suspected you to capitalize on. I apologize for putting you both through such a fright.
Lup makes another face. “Huh?”
The raven on the goddess’s shoulder caws, then the whit slime around Lup’s feet slid back up her body, finding the patches of bone and solidifying back into dark skin. When the Raven Queen looks at Julia this time, there’s a tilt to her mask that suggests the tiniest bit of humor. And, what about you, sugar? Are you ready to be at peace?
Julia stares. Then she wants to laugh. The raven and the dwarf following the Raven Queen’s orders is one thing. The goddess posing at the inductor that found her naked on the beach is another image entirely. It starts to make her wonder how much of what has happened has been a part of some celestial plan, but she needs to give her answer first. Julia presses a hand to her chest as a sign of respect and bows her head. “With all due respect, I’m not ready yet.”
Staunch as one can expect. She bends down, low enough that they can imagine that she’s anywhere near the mortals’ heights. You must listen—listen true and well. I cannot offer you an exception. To do so will upset the balance between all living things on all the planes.
Julia nods.
But for your fate—to return to the sea where you will lay at rest—there is room for a simple delay. The Raven Queen brings the sprig of lavender to her mask, slipping it under the long beak. Lips kiss the soft petals. There’s no beam of awesome light or sparks of powerful magic. Yet, when the Raven Queen lowers the spring back into her reach, Julia can feel how it’s different. You will not be able to escape slumber forever. One day, you will need to return to the sea. But with this you may have the time you need with the ones you love.
Julia looks up at the goddess. “Can I ask why? You’re not known for being, well, merciful.”
She can see where two parts of the skull connect, leaving a small enough of a gap that she can see the flesh, bluish lips of the goddess curve into a smile. They are reasons that are inconsequential to you and your quest. But knowing you and seeing your hunger in action, I will say this—the existence of our universe is split asunder. There is a before and an after, something I know to have never happened quite like this before. It would do me and other gods who reign above you wise to show mercy, lest despair runs rampant and more universes who were deaf to that wondrous song also experiences their own before and after.
Next to her, Lup snorts. Julia almost nudges her, but instead just shakes her head and reaches up a hand. Her fingers touch the sprig—just a brush, at first, before taking it from the god’s hand.
And Julia’s standing on a beach. She’s ankle deep in the water, sand between her toes. A gentle, almost imagined back and forth of the water lapping up her calves before pulling away again. A formation of ravens fly overhead against the cloudy gray skies, making a few calls as they leave the Sea of Souls behind. Julia follows their flight, turning as she sees them descend behind her.
And, there’s the island. It’s not too small, about half the size of Raven’s Roost, but its covered with lovely evergreens that give the ravens plenty of places to land and perch. Julia laughs, running onto the shore. Sand turns to soft grass where there’s bushes and rocks, decaying logs and dandelions sprouting between tree roots. She runs her hand over the ragged trunks, feeling the age on the bark.
A raven swoops down from a branch, landing on a boulder by her feet. Julia squats down to it, holding out a finger. It rubs its feathered head around it, a deep rumbling under its plumage. Remember, it caws. It won’t be forever.
“I know,” Julia whispers. “Thank you.”
The tearing of reality breaks the silence. Julia looks up to see a portal by the water, Lup stepping out with all the curiosity in the world on her face. “Wow. This is sick.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Julia leaves the raven, joining her in the shallows of the water. She looks at a small clearing right where the grass becomes sand. “I think I can put something here. Like a house or something.”
Lup’s grin is all teeth. “Rad.” She points down to Julia’s hand, where her fingers are still gently curled around the sprig of lavender. “So, what are you going to do with that?”
Julia brings it to her face, chewing a lip as she thinks. “Maybe plant it. See what it does.” She touches one of the petals. Her chest aches. “I hope he makes me wait, as long as possible.”
“Magnus?”
Julia nods, not looking up to see why Lup sounds as sad as she feels. “And I want him to fall in love and just keep changing until maybe I don’t recognize him anymore. Then…” She feels her cheeks burn. “Then maybe we’ll fall in love all over again. We’ll get married again, and our family will be there too.”
Lup’s arm is around her, then another one until she’s smothered in a large hug. Into her shoulder, Lup says, “he loves you so much.”
Julia wraps her hands back around her, squeezing her tight. Lup feels warm, and although there’s no heart beating in her chest, she feels a humming under her skin that could be life. Life and emotions, swirling together until she can breathe like someone who’s alive. “Yeah,” Julia says, holding Lup tighter, the lavender in her hands surely being squashed by the force of it all. “I know. I know he does.”
He makes her wait longer than she expects.
But when they meet again, she kisses a face that’s not as familiar as it could have been and begs to hear his story. And he kisses her back, his love as soft and gentle as the perfume of lavender wafting from the bushes growing around their cottage. Purple flowers, growing in the midst of death and what comes after.