“Can you blame me?! What kind of person would I be if I just believed what you were saying about my father going off to the Land of the Dead?”
“An open-minded one,” he says tiredly, sounding disappointed. “Your father assured me you were open-minded.”
“Yeah! I am! I have crystals that give me good energy! I believe in my horoscope half the time, and I think the Ancient Egyptians were in cahoots with aliens. But even the most open-minded person has their limits, and this was my limit.”
“Even after seeing your father in the casket morph into me?”
I shrug, trying to get my thoughts in order. So much has changed and so fast. “I don’t know. I was hallucinating! I was grieving and jet-lagged! For all I know I still might be hallucinating, or at the very least in some awful, fantastical dream.”
Rasmus turns around and storms over to me, reaching for my hair and giving it a sharp yank.
“Ow!” I cry out, trying to move back. I like a good-hair pulling in the bedroom, but not this. “What the fuck is your problem, pulling my hair like a schoolyard bully?”
“That hurt, right?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s your proof right now that you’re not dreaming.”
“Jesus,” I swear. “There are other ways to make a point.”
“And anyway, how do you explain this?” he says, reaching down to pick up Loviatar’s silver sword at my feet. His hand curls around the handle but as much as he pulls, he can barely lift it up. “This is what this sword weighs. A lot.”
With a grunt he tries to pass it to me. I take it from him, the handle cold even through my mittens, expecting it to be ridiculously heavy now, and yet in my hand it feels as light as it did earlier. I pick it up with ease.
“See! How the hell are you able to do that?” Rasmus asks me, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s bitterness to his words. “I’ve never been able to take Loviatar’s sword from her. And yet you not only kicked her clear off the boat, but you killed the swans with it, which also shouldn’t have been possible.”
“Don’t tell me the murder swans were supposed to be immortal,” I mumble, staring at the sword. Up close, I see the handle is covered with detailed skulls, bones and filigree, looking both beautiful and macabre, just as Lovia looked herself. “Look, I don’t know why I’m able to use it. And for the record, I’ve never been able to fight like that before either. My training is pretty basic. I don’t compete, it’s just a form of exercise that’s fun and makes me feel empowered. For some reason my body just isn’t obeying the law of physics or gravity here. Neither is this river, by the way. Shouldn’t we be flowing in the opposite direction?”
“It’s taking us where we need to go,” Rasmus says after a moment. “And unfortunately, we’ll be heading into the Great Inland Sea without Loviatar’s protection.”
I raise the sword up, almost slicing off Rasmus’ ear, which garners another dirty look from him. I don’t know what it is about redheads, but they can cast a dirty look like no one else. “I have her sword,” I tell him. “That has to count for something. And protection against what? More murder swans?”
Rasmus walks back to the bow. I follow, bringing the sword with me. I’m getting used to having it already.
In front of us the river is opening up into a big black sea of nothing, and in moments all land disappears, covered by mist as heavy clouds set in and a light snow begins to fall. I can’t tell if we’re close to shore or not, but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s creepy as hell and it’s getting darker by the minute, like we’re fast-forwarding into twilight.
“Maybe we need to start paddling or steering?” I ask.
Rasmus shakes his head. “The River of Shadows will keep us on course, the current is running beneath us. This boat only goes to the City of Death and back to Death’s Landing where we were picked up. I’ve tried to take it elsewhere in this sea before, but it would always right itself.”
“If you’ve been here before, how did you get past Lovia? Were there no swans?”
“Lovia is forgetful, if you couldn’t tell. When I’m using a spell, I can make her see whatever she wants. I made sure to disguise myself well from the last time I fooled her.”
“And me?”
“I left you as you,” he says.
“Great. So if she survives and complains to her father, he’ll know exactly who to look for.”
He gives me a shy smile. “You’re going to stick out anyway. Not many pretty girls in the Land of the Dead. Though you do have an ethereal, fairy-like quality to your face. Perhaps they might think you’re a Goddess.” He lets out an awkward cough and looks back to the blackened sea. “Anyway, there were no swans the last few times I’ve been here. They were the original gatekeepers, before Death took over and became God of the Underworld and created the City of Death. Actually, it’s one swan split into two, or three, or however many different versions of itself it wants to be.”