There’s freedom on the water. A vast world that no one but you will ever know. You can never step in the same river twice. And the ocean never carries you the same way as the last. You can never go home again, or so they say. You can revisit the land that bore you, but it will never be the same. Each time is never the same. The water knows this. Every voyage it will show you a new world. A new corner of itself. But you will never truly know the water. You can sail your whole life long, and never see into the depths.

Alas, the freedom promised never lasts. The water is a fickle mistress, and it will do it’s best to put you in irons. It will not always take you where you wanted to go, but you will never end up where you needn’t be. You can answer the call of sea- as well you should if you be chosen- but you choose not where it will lead you.

Caution is the longest friend of a sailor, and arrogance the shortest. The call of the sea is not far off in pitch or nature from l’appel du vide- the call of the void. No need to fear the void, it does not want to take you from this world- but show you the truth of it. Both these sirens call to me.

There’s chaos on the water. A vast world that does not acknowledge you. That you do not control. It will remind you as such the moment you find peace among the waves and currents. And there is plenty of peace to be found. But that does not last, either.

There is no true peace in this world to be had. Like joy, it is something that journeys through the world, touching everyone as it goes, but never joining anyone in a forever union. Peace travels through the Eras, in some its touch is a firm hand on your shoulder, in others it is a mere whisper, quietly urging you forward, to not give up, because it is already ahead of you, waiting, in the next one.

You can’t trust people; they always only do what they want. But you can trust the water to always do as it wills. It may lead you into a storm, but not without warning. There’s always a warning. Humans don’t alert you before they stab you in the back.

Best to be on the water. That’s what I believe. I’ve always disliked disembarking. The stubborn, unflinching nature of the land is not compatible with me. It rejects my existence on this mortal plane. My trips upon the earth need always be short. And they’re always getting shorter. It gets worse every year.

Ferrymen are not supposed to leave their ships, after all. And this fair galleon of mine has carried me on many a voyage. And my father before me. And my grandfather before him. For thousands of years. When my father was stranded on this mortal plane, and he thought it was the end, our ship did not crumble as it was meant to. She held firm. Still does. It can carry us wherever we want to go, just not back to our home. It has forgotten the way, and the way is sealed, and the location died with my father.

Our people try to reach us. A constant presence in our heads. I can even hear them whisper sometimes. But the barrier of our worlds holds firm. It can never be crossed again.

It’s enough to know they still survive, over there where nothing lives.

I run a hand along the bow. It will need to be varnished again soon.

“My Lord.”

“Mmm.”

“The set meeting time is approaching. We should leave. They won’t wait for us.”

“Were we spotted?”

“Yes, sir. As you wanted, news of your appearance here should reach them soon. So we can’t delay here much longer.”

“That was never the plan.”

I hop from the bow to the earthen ground. My feet are sore through my boots almost instantly. Bringing my flask to my lips briefly I shake it off. I can see my beauty’s figurehead from here. Like the rest of the ship, this impeccable carved image has stood the test of time.

At the front of the bow is an imposing, if I dare say so myself, cloaked and hooded female figure. The wood used in its creation is the same as the rest of the ship, and is not naturally present in this world, a solid and sleek black wood from a fully matured western abyss pine. It looks eerily similar to the image many Sapiens have of the psychopomp called the Grim Reaper. All ferrymen use this figure. Indeed, it could be where that image came from- but they only got it part right.

It is indeed a disturbing character in a black cloak who hides her face and, in her left hand, holds the scythe that reaps one’s passing soul. But often forgotten, in her right hand, is a ship’s oar.

The Greeks and Irish had the afterlife better figured out than those other Sapiens religions. Still wrong. The reaping is only the first step- the easy part. The trick is making it across the river. If you want to rest in peace, that is, and if you’ve earned your crossing.

For that you need a Ferryman.

And you’d best not forget your bribe- err, payment. Contrary to popular belief mortal currency is not all that favoured down there where nothing lives. You must pay us what we ask for.

Whatever we ask for.

“Sir, um, what exactly is the plan?”

“All will be revealed in due time. You need only ride the proper current.”

“Yes, my Lord. We will all follow where you lead.”

“I do not lead us. I am but a vessel. No different from this ship.”

I lay my hand on the outward frame, reluctant to part with her, before turning and heading to our destination.

“May I ask a question, sir?”

“Another one?” I give him a teasing smile.

“My apologies-”

“You may ask. I may not answer.”

“I apologize if you are burdened, my Lord-”

“I am very burdened.” Before the boy can begin begging for forgiveness, I add, “but not by you.”

He lets escape a relieved sigh. “We have all been saved by you, Exiles and Lost Ones alike, and we do not question anything you say or do, you know that- we just… we don’t understand. There is a lot that we don’t understand.”

I knew this would come up sooner or later. It is a fair question.

I chuckle and turn to face him. He is holding his cap in his hands, his expression nervous, but not only that. There is an unbending will, a salty determination, also present in his eyes. He is a boy that has been properly tempered by the water.

“You want to know why I had my daughter killed.”

“…Yes.”

“Have you boys read those books I got for you?”

“Yes, of course, sir! But… those texts are also hard to understand.”

“Well, the original language doesn’t exist anymore. And it wasn’t even a language as how we classified them today. The Ancient Diviner lived during the Advent. Ten thousand years ago. She was among our first generation. The original few from whence we all came from. No one from that first generation survived to the present day. Nor from the second. And none of the living third generation, or later, knew her, personally. Her prophesies survived through word of mouth, passed down through the ages. And everything she ever foresaw has come to pass.”

“But what do her prophesies have to do with your daughter, and why she had to die?”

“Psychics at the level of Diviners are able to clearly see the Strings of Fate that all living things have. My people, we can’t see as much as them. I don’t know who a person’s destined lover is, or what age they will graduate or how many children someone will have, or whether or not they’ll prefer vanilla or chocolate, or if they’ll even like ice cream at all. All the events that occur in person’s life, falling like dominoes, with the direction determined by their choices- we can’t see those things. What we can see is only the ending of all things.”

“That’s right, you told us this before. You can’t see the entire String of Fate, only where it ends.”

“Mmm.” I take another long sip from my flask. “I knew what she was the day she was born. I saw how that girl would die. Each death, and there were many, and I saw the last one, too. That’s how I knew what she was.”

“What is she, sir?”

“She’s the Key.”

“The ‘Key’ the Ancient Diviner spoke of?”

“That’s right. And there’s nothing I can do about that. You see, there are certain events and happenings and existences in the Fate of All Things that one cannot change. Not even alter, not even a little. Trying to do so always invites calamity.”

“The Fixed Pillars of Fate.”

“That’s right.”

“What does that have to do with Kara needing to die?”

“Her fate was altered by the enemies of this world. I thought leaving her would protect her, but I was wrong, and her memories were tampered with and erased. By the time I realized it, it was far too late. You see, keys are finicky things. You can’t just shove any key into any lock and expect it to fit and do what it’s supposed to do. A person’s memories shapes who they are. Our enemies changed who Kara is, and thus her nature as the Key was also changed. The problem is her Fate is fixed. She will open something no matter what. By changing the Key, the evil doers changed what Kara would bring into this world. They altered the Arrival.”

“But even if it’s a loophole it would still bring about a calamity!”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry sir, it still isn’t quite clear to me.”

“You have studied how the Sanguine need to die to complete their transformation?”

“Yes, I- Ah! So it’s-”

“It’s a well-hidden secret, but both mine and Kara’s mother’s clans also have that requirement. We aren’t complete beings before dying. Only after.”

“But, um, most species who need to undergo a Death Ceremony of some sort usually wait until they’re older. Aren’t there a lot of complications doing things too soon?”

“She was always going to die young. If her first death had still occurred the way it was meant to, the way I saw it when she was born, the calamity would have been set in stone. By ruining our enemies’ plan, and killing her my way, I have temporarily halted the inevitable. Whether all our work will be in vain or not, that fate rests on my child’s shoulders. I spared her a worse fate, but I cannot save her from everything. She will need to grow strong- and take charge of the water that flows to the end of everything. Whether she can tame her Shadow, or if the Shadow will be killed, and whether she can find her vessel, and sail it to the proper ending… I cannot see these things. All I know is, despite my efforts, her final death remains the same. That may be a Pillar that cannot be shaken. But her death doesn’t need to bring the end of this world. It could bring something else. That is the final ending I am fighting for.”

“It’s still very confusing, but I think I understand a little. You knew she would die soon anyways, because of an evil plot, so you killed her early and ruined the enemies’ plans. And by doing this, you’re trying to steer us towards a brighter future. But it might not work?”

“Nothing but chaos is a certainty in this life. My efforts may amount to nothing in the end. Perhaps the enemies of this world are not wrong, and the Arrival is meant to be the Final Ending.”

“I don’t believe that at all!”

I pat him on the shoulder as we arrive at our destination. An abandoned pub. One of the only still intact buildings in this ghost town from the gold rush.

“Be on your guard, boy. These men are not our friends. And no ally is forever.”

“Yes, sir!”

I nod to him and enter. The door creaks the entire way as it slowly opens. Our guests have already arrived. The man on the left has his feet up on the table, with a pair of heavy brown boots and the edge of a pair of mismatched red and orange socks with block patterns can be seen. He’s also wearing dark grey pants covered in patches and a rather expensive looking light grey fur coat that looks out of place. Despite the cold air he hasn’t a shirt on, his chest covered in black and white curls. The long, oily dreads that fall down his back are similarly black, with white on the sides.

His eyes are on me before mine are fully on him. He gives an annoying little laugh after staring at my feet.

“You’s know, we could haves mets on yer ship, Thomas.” I narrow my eyes and he shrugs. “Looks painfuls is all.”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with such things.”

“I’s not. Oi, comes out here, boy!”

His voice is loud and startling. There’s a faint shuffling from the back room before another man appears, carrying a bottle. He doesn’t join us at our table, instead stands behind the rusted bar counter, and fishes out a glass. He has a grey cardigan on over a white shirt and clean black pants, despite the environment. His glasses slightly obscure his eyes from sight. As usual, there doesn’t appear to be anything special about him at all. And his presence is almost non-existent.

“Sorry uncle, the oldest is ‘1929.”

“Goods enough, good enoughs.”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Wendell.”

“Bah! Who’s says its fer you’s? We don’t haves you’s problems. The earth doesn’t burn us, we lives in the earth. And we’s will be staying here a whiles.”

“I was spotted earlier. Wouldn’t recommend staying too long.”

He does a sound of what I suppose should have sounded like a ‘tsk’ but only sounds like a dying snake. “I don’t know what yer plannings getting spotted again, and after sumthin’ like that. You weren’t involved in that whole thing, were you? Killings the North?”

“No. Were you?”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” He throws a crumpled piece of paper at me. “We both knows it was those Luciferian bastards.”

“What’s this?” I ask as I slowly unfold it, trying not to rip it. Nestor passes his uncle a drink which he takes a large gulp of immediately.

“Diagnosis reports by me. You shoulds feel honored I bothered to takes a looksie at that doomed child.”

My brows furrow as I read. “So not everything went to plan. Idiots. They were only supposed to kill her. I didn’t expect the offspring of those vile cretins to be so… charitable.”

“You miscalculated. Theys didn’t leave her to die like you’s thought. Now girls gots Soul Rot. Not sure what yer gonna do nows.”

“You can help her manage it, can’t you?”

“Mn, but whys should I?”

“Because we both know what would happen if you don’t.”

“I only knows what you’s claims to knows. Why should I believes everything? That goes against the sciences.”

“Haven’t your tribes’ backpacks been feeling… a little heavier, of late?”

“How’s do you knows that!?”

“Your tribe’s powers stem from the darkness of this world. Since you deign to use it, you are also burdened to carry it with you. And the darkness has been growing. Building. I know you can feel it. All the Seeds, sown during that darkened Era long past, are beginning to spread and bloom. The peace of this Era is over. Whether the next Era is peaceful or tragic will be determined by our actions. Whether there will even be another Era is determined by my actions. If you no longer wish to assist me, that’s fine. But are you willing to carry the guilt of that? Isn’t your backpack already quite full?”

“Nah, nah. I was just joking, not serious, nots serious.” He finishes his drink in his second gulp. “Speaking of Seeds, there’s something growing inside of you’s lil’ girl.”

“Nonsense, if she’d been planted, I would know.”

“Not that kinds of things. Not a Black Spirits. Somethings else.”

I ponder for a moment. “What is it connected to? Which emotion?”

“Anger. No… injustices. Angers comes second. It is a power of judgments.”

I hear the cabin boy gasp behind me, causing me to chuckle.

“What’s is it?”

“I told you she was the Key.”

“Ah!” The old git drops his mug, and it shatters easily. The man behind the counter sighs and fishes for another. If he was shocked as well, it’s impossible to tell. I hate men like him.

“It’s as-as the Diviners says, the Arrivals of Judgment. The Keys. Aiyiyai.”

“Take a breath, uncle.”

“Shush, you’s, boy! Then what nows?”

“We stay according to plan. My brother will stop at nothing to reach his desired ending. And the Black Spirit inside him will stop for even less.”

“What are his latest movements?”

“No change. But one of his men has successfully entered the Capitol. He’s been there for a while now.”

“What!? You’s should have sent words to us. This is unacceptable. What if there’s another attacks? Who’s was sent? Why didn’t I’s notice?”

“It’s not easy messaging you. You’re too closely monitored when you’re there. And you didn’t notice because it’s an Unbanded Shapeshifter.”

“Bah! He could be anyone. He coulds be so many someones.”

“It’s unlikely he would replace anyone of too high a position. But he would align himself beside someone with good access to whatever is it he’s after. It would be incredibly helpful if you could figure all that out. As you know, it’s a little difficult for me to go inland.”

“No more drinks, boy. I needs to return.”

“Alright uncle, I’m prepare a-”

“Not you.”

“Yes?”

“You’s goin’ with him.” Wendell shoves his thumb into my face as he gets up from his stool and starts fishing around in his backpack.

“Sorry, what?”

“I SAIDS you’s goin’ withs-”

“Yes, alright uncle. But why?”

“How’s should I’s know why he wants a runt like you’s? Just do what’s he says.”

Oh my, what an untrusting gaze. Well, I don’t trust him much neither.

“That’s right, you had a package for me. That thing. Was Romano able to deliver it?”

“His boy dids. Was killed fors it. Be grateful.”

He hands me a small, old and weathered, wooden box. Finally. After all this time. I finally have it. Thank goodness my brother did not acquire it. It wouldn’t matter what I did if he had gotten his hands on this. There wouldn’t be anything left anyone could do. But still, a young life was lost in exchange. That should not have happened.

“So there is a Seed within the Council already. It really is the end of days.”

“The cursed Shadows. They’s thinks they owns the darkness. Bah!” So it was the Himura clan. I would not have expected that. “The boys was thirteen, Thomas.”

“Got it, got it. I’ll ferry him myself. Don’t worry. He’ll receive safe passage to the other side.”

“His funerals was three days ago, you’s already late.”

“I’d better set off then.”

I tip my hat to him and head for the exit. That man follows.

“Was it really that importants?”

I chuckle. “When I greet the child, I’ll be sure to thank him for saving the world.”

I hear a weary sigh from behind us as the cold hits fast once we’re back outside.

“Come along you two. Don’t dawdle.”

The cabin boy is shooting poor Nestor a look of equal distrust. Things should be livelier now on board. We take a different route on the return, and we approach the ship from the back.

“What the-”

Wendell’s nephew stops in his tracks.

“Anything?”

“There’s no rudder! And there’s no wheel either? Where are the sails? Why even have a mast with no sails? What kind of ship is this? How do you get anywhere?”

The poor man’s a bit flustered, eh? Well, I guess my fair galleon is a bit unique.

“This is a Ferryman’s ship, my man. Things like rudders and wheels are for mundane contraptions. I control this ship, not the water. About ninety percent of the time.”

“What? What about the other ten percent?”

“Sometimes she knows where to go better than I.”

I jump aboard in one leap. The cabin boy follows. The hesitant badger takes uncertain steps up the plank until he settles on the deck. It seems he dislikes being on the water as much I hate being on the land.

Slowly more of the crew come up from below, muttering amongst themselves about this unexpected new arrival. I spread my arms and laugh as a large scythe appears in my left hand, and in my right, a large ship’s oar. At the same time the entire vessel becomes encased in a thick and layered mist. It’s time to set sail. This will be a fascinating voyage.

I turn to Nestor, who is staring blankly at the water rushing past as we’ve begun to move, against all logical reason. There is no wind, no sails, no wheel, and yet we’ve taken to sea.

It has been a while since I got to shock someone like this.

“Welcome aboard The Katabasis Galley, the helmless ship of The Last Ferryman.”