Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“You’re making no sense,” she mutters, the breeze ruffling her thinning gray hair that seems to get thicker as the moments tick on.
“I’m the Goddess of Death,” I tell her. “Death’s daughter. I am an immortal, but if I were to somehow die here, I would be sent to Oblivion, which is just floating around in the void for eons. At least you get to live your eternity in the Eternal City.”
“And what’s that? Heaven?”
I shrug. “It depends which level you go to.”
“I hope it’s not where my husband George is. That wouldn’t be my idea of heaven.”
I look at her in surprise. “You don’t want to be reunited with him in the afterlife?”
She shakes her head, her lips curled bitterly. “I should have divorced that bastard before he kicked the bucket. Knowing him, he’s probably…do you have a Hell here?”
“Something like that…”
“Then that’s where he probably is,” she grumbles. “Would serve him right for having an affair with Betsy McGuffin for fourteen years.”
I’m about to tell Ethel that having an affair doesn’t mean you’ll be sent to Inmost, but I decide to keep that to myself. Wouldn’t want to spoil her time here already. Besides, once Ethel meets the Magician, who will pull the card and let her know what section of the City she’ll be staying in, she’ll feel better about things. Once the person truly accepts their death, which usually happens on the way to the City, then the memories of their life in the Upper World start to fade away. They never disappear completely, but they don’t have a hold on them like they would if they were alive. Otherwise, people would spend eternity pining for their previous life, and that doesn’t sound like heaven to me.
And yet, I’m doing that to myself. Sure, I’m not dead, but I feel like I’m forever pining for a life in the Upper World. If only my father could just let me leave Tuonela and my duties and explore the human realm. I know he thinks of it with disdain (aside from the fact that they produce the coffee to which he’s addicted), but he’s never even been there. He has always sent others to go. He doesn’t even know what he’s missing.
But I do.
I sigh despondently, and Ethel looks at me. “What are you so upset about? I’m the one who’s dead.”
I don’t normally converse too much with the recently deceased. Usually, I just let them look around the cold corners of Tuonela in silence, watching as their past life slowly loosens its grip on them.
I bring the boat along the icy shores of the Frozen Void, where a herd of white reindeer have gathered, their exposed bones gleaming in the faint light streaming through the clouds, munching on frosted bunches of red sinberries. The weather today has been pleasant so far, obviously because my father is enjoying himself at the Bone Match—which is where I should be.
“I’m just missing out, that’s all,” I confess to Ethel. “There’s an important family event happening right now, and I wish I could be there. More than that, I wish I could do what you mortals do and take a vacation so I could venture out into your world for a bit.”
“So we both don’t want to be here,” she says in a huff.
“Of course I want to,” I say quickly, not wanting to ruin her experience. “It’s an honor to transport the dead. Truly.”
“I’m sure it is, but we can’t love our lives all the time. That’s unrealistic.” She pauses. “Though, looking back, I probably should have appreciated even the most mundane times. You never know what you have until it’s gone.” She glances at me and gives me a one-eyed squint. “Except for George. I’m glad he’s gone. And if I catch him in this world, I’ll deliver him straight to Hell myself.”
Sheesh. She’s still holding onto her old life with an iron grip, though I have to admire the strength of her spirit.
And I’m starting to hate George now too.
We’re getting closer to the City of Death, just passing out of the Hiisi Forest, when suddenly, a sharp blast of frozen air comes from above, almost like an icy hand pressing down from the sky. In seconds, the clouds gather, dark and ominous, blotting out the sun until everything is a murky shade of twilight.
To my surprise, Ethel shivers, rubbing her hands up and down the nightshirt she died in. The dead are supposed to be impervious to temperature changes.
“Are you cold?” I ask her as the wind picks up, driving snow from above that coats the boat, parts of the river freezing over before my eyes.
“Yes,” she says, her teeth chattering. “Is it usually this cold?”
I shake my head. “No. You shouldn’t feel any temperature at all. I don’t know what’s happening.”