Sydney Aytes // Woodford County

The boy awoke to the distant sound of waves. His eyes fluttered open, yet he saw nothing. Darkness. It was impenetrable: it seemed to stretch on endlessly into nothing. He supposed he should be fearful of what could be inhabiting the blackness, the yawning abyss that lay before him. Instead he felt a sort of hollowness inside of him, and found it difficult to feel much of anything at all, aside from an enduring sense of complacency; which he felt, somehow, was unusual for him.

 

He felt dampness on the stone beneath his palms. The air felt warm on his skin, almost balmy, as it wrapped around him like an embrace. He inhaled deeply, the slight breeze carrying with it the scent of the sea. He could almost taste the salt on his tongue. Strange, the boy thought idly. It reminded him of home, yet… He couldn’t seem to recall where that was, exactly.

    

He didn’t know how long he had lain unmoving in the darkness, listening to the sound of waves lap against  the shore. For all he knew, it could’ve been seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. He closed his eyes. Time passed. He opened them again. The cycle repeated itself.

    

After some time, he was awoken. The idyllic spell was shattered.

 

His perfect darkness, his world, was torn away; casting him into the light. It flooded his vision, insignificant and dim to others, but to him, after being in the dark for what seemed such a long time, was nearly blinding. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a figure was kneeling in front of him, lantern in hand. The flame inside danced and flickered as the lantern swung, casting shadows across the planes of the figure’s face.

 

It was a man; tall, broad-shouldered, with a gaunt bearded face and eyes that bore witness to an eternity of suffering. He slowly extended his free hand down to the boy, still lying on the ground, and waited patiently for him to take it. The boy gradually pulled himself up into a sitting position, but did not grasp the man’s hand.

 

The boy asked in a small voice, hoarse from neglect, who the man was, and what was he doing here. The man simply smiled and replied: “Why, I’m Captain Tory. I’ve come to take you somewhere far away from here. Somewhere where you’ll belong.”

 

The boy shook his head, as if trying to clear cobwebs lodged inside of his brain. He couldn’t bring himself to flee from this man, or feel any sort of panic at all. Instead he reached out his hand, allowing Captain Tory to pull him to his feet. Despite the warmth in the air, Captain Tory’s hands chilled the boy to his very core. 

​

“Come along, boy.”

 

Captain Tory started forward with a hobbling gait, and they walked together, hand in hand through the darkness, the Captain’s lantern only lighting a few feet in front of them. Every step they took, their feet echoed loudly on the cobblestone beneath them. The boy lost track of time once more, falling into another familiar rhythm. None of them spoke to one another.  The sound of waves grew louder as they moved forward. The lantern creaked loudly as it swung. The cycle repeated. Time went by.

 

Captain Tory stopped, after walking for what seemed an eternity, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper: “We’ve arrived.”

 

They stood on the edge of what seemed to be a pier, but there wasn't a boat in sight.. The only barrier between them and a steep fall into the water far below was a spanse of black iron railing, supported by small rounded pillars.

 

“Where are we, sir?” the boy questioned, “There’s nothing here.” He motioned to the void-like expanse.

 

His hand still planted firmly onto the boy’s shoulder, he leaned down and whispered. “Look closer.”

 

With that, Captain Tory raised his arm. He swung his lantern three times and a schooner slowly appeared  like a phantom out of a wall of roiling fog, slicing through the waves silently. On the side of the ship’s hull, printed in bold red letters were the words Diélefsi tou Cháronta, or Charon’s Crossing.   

 

The boy stared up at Captain Tory, the shadows casting over his face making him seem almost skeletal in appearance. He smiled now, but this time it seemed menacing in the orange glow, stretching too far over his gaunt face.

 

My name is Charon, ferryman of souls into the Underworld.” He said with a sweeping bow.  “My lord Hades is very eager to make your acquaintance.”