Page 8 of Thorn & Ash

Something inside Evander stirred at the sight of her… Some desperate hunger, an aching yearning, like a sensation that had been there his entire life but he’d only just now identified it.

A low hum resonated inside his chest, and after a moment, Evander realized it came from the creature that dwelled within him. Almost as if it were purring with contentment.

Whatever energies this spirit radiated were soothing to the beast. Evander had never felt anything like it before.

The woman—who was younger than he expected, likely around twenty or so—fixed her gaze upon him. Her lips parted, and Evander thought she might sing again. He even hoped for it.

But instead, she said, “Who are you?”

“My name is Evander. I am the overseer of this river. I’m sorry to tell you this, but you have passed on to the next life. Your mortal life has ended.” He had rehearsed this speech several times. Most of the souls lived in their own spaces, ignorant of everything around them—including Evander. But occasionally, a soul had questions for him, and he was always prepared.

“Did it work?” the woman asked urgently, her eyes wide.

Evander, momentarily startled by her sudden question, only cocked his head at her.

“My sacrifice,” she clarified. “Did it work? Did the souls stop attacking the village? My sister, my mother—are they all right?” Her voice broke as if she were holding back tears. “Please tell me they’re alive.”

Evander shook his head, helpless to offer her any consolation. The desperation shining in her eyes made him wish he could access her realm, just to see if her loved ones were safe. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I have no way to reach the mortal realm.”

Even if he wanted to, the dark magic festering inside him wouldn’t allow him to transition to other realms. It was bound to the Underworld. And so was he.

“There’s no way to send word?” the woman pleaded. “Nothing at all you can do?”

Gods, this was torture, having to disappoint her again. Ordinarily, the souls were nothing more than orbs who didn’t even register his presence at all. But this, seeing a dead mortal face-to-face and having to explain this to her? It was almost too much.

“This is your home now,” Evander said quietly. “All who live in the Underworld are destined to remain here. There is no way back, and there is no way to communicate with other realms.”

This wasn’t entirely true. Some souls, when they completed their journey, would transition to Elysium, but those were rare instances. And Evander knew his father, Aidoneus, had traveled to Elysium before to convene with other gods.

So it wasn’t impossible. But for a mortal soul? This woman had no say in the matter. Her soul would travel wherever the river would take her.

Or rather… that was how it should be. But she wasn’t moving. She was merely hovering above the river, her feet not even touching the water.

“So, this is the Underworld?” The woman gazed around as if just noticing her surroundings. “I’m truly dead?” Her brows knitted together in confusion.

“Yes,” Evander said.

The woman stared at him, her face a mask of shock. “I don’t understand.”

“I know this is hard to accept,” Evander said gently. “And I’m so sorry for the loss you have suffered. But you are dead now, and there is no way back.”

“No, that’s not it,” the woman said quickly. “I knew I was going to die. But this… doesn’t feel right.”

Evander cocked his head at her. How would she know what death felt like?

“I’ve visited the other side,” she went on, her gaze distant. “Once or twice. I’m a witch. We perform rituals, and I have sensed death before. It isn’t this.”

That same wariness crept into Evander’s thoughts again. Witches couldn’t be trusted. They were the worst form of humans, capable of deceit and lies and manipulation. But as he studied her, he couldn’t deny something was wrong. She wasn’t an orb, for one thing. And for another, she carried a strong fragrance with her, a fragrance that usually faded with death.

Realization swept over him, and he drew in a sharp gasp.

This woman was unbound. Her soul must have been separated from her body at the time of her death.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, at Cocytus. The only detached souls were those who dwelled in Tartarus and who had earned a gruesome punishment. Because to be separated from one’s mortal form was an unspeakable torture that most souls did not deserve.

Especially not this woman.

“Oh, Goddess.” She moaned, hunching over, her form flickering slightly as a breeze drifted along the river, making the waters ripple.