24. Ferryman

“Damn,” Zacko was the first to offer a reaction, along with a wry shake of his head, “I should’ve known it’d come to this.”

“You’ve heard of this ‘Ferryman’ guy already?” Serac asked, curiosity piqued.

“Yup. In fact, his ugly mug was the very first thing I saw when I reincarnated in Naraka—as one of the ‘customers’ he’d ferried across the Canyon. Shame I didn’t get a good look at the ‘Ferry’ itself, though, before I and a bunch of Penitents were kicked to the curb in front of the Damnatorium.”

“Huh. And let me guess: this Ferryman’s ‘service’ only offers one-way trips?”

“You guess correctly, Wayfarer,” Ravi again. “The Ferryman is responsible for routinely supplying the Damnatorium with fresh intakes of Penitents. And for as long as I’ve bided my time here in Last Sorrow, the Ferryman—or rather, his Infernal Steed—is the only creature I’ve known to be capable of crossing the Canyon, untroubled by the Fibrinous web that spreads across its floor. But alas, neither I nor any of the younglings have managed to do aught with that knowledge.”

“I think I see where this is going,” Serac said, not without some trepidation. “You want us to deal with this Ferryman guy and, what, capture his Steed? So it might be convinced to ferry us back to the other side of the Canyon instead? And let me guess again: it’s not going to be nearly as easy as I just made it sound.”

“No,” it was Zacko who answered, looking somewhat more thoughtful than his usual self. “But I think it’s worth a shot. I mean, if we were to take the old man’s word for it, it’s not like we’ve got any other choice.”

“I suppose…” Serac said, suppressing a sigh as she did. “You got any strats cooked up already, Zacko, or do you expect us to ‘die and learn’ again?”

“The latter,” Zacko said without missing a beat.

“Damn,” Serac offered her honest reaction, along with the sigh she’d been holding in, “I should’ve known it’d come to this.”

***

Shortly after its frenetic and tumultuous start, Serac’s Wayfaring journey had become something of a waiting game.

A week had passed since her and Zacko’s arrival in Last Sorrow—a week spent in nervous anticipation of a Ferry that could show up at any moment. By then, her life had settled into a new routine, much less painful than the one she’d endured in prison but—if she were being honest—perhaps also more boring.

She and Zacko would begin their day by patrolling Last Sorrow’s immediate vicinity, ridding the area of any lesser Aberrants that might threaten the Penitents’ peace. It was important work, and one that offered a steady flow of Karma to spend on a few additional levels (or, in Zacko’s case, to chip away at his ‘debt’). But the work was also mindless and monotonous, and Serac was long ready for the big scary Ferryman to show up and teach her a lesson, if only to shake things up a little.

The evenings spent inside the caves of Last Sorrow were, if anything, even more depressing. For this was where Serac would come face to face with the truly meager existence of her fellow Rakshasas, ones who’d escaped a life of punishment only to end up stuck in Middle-of-Nowhere, Hell.

To be sure, some of them had what one might call ‘hobbies’, if one stretched the definition enough. There was that seamstress who liked to go scrounging for raw materials with which to hone her craft. Ravi the elder seemed content to meditate for hours on end, even when he didn’t have younglings to lead in prayer.

Serac also met a man who’d use his own blood to write—very slowly, given the limited supply of the ink of his choice. And none of his writing was actually legible, given the man used his own invented language. When pressed for details, however, he’d only mumble something about “work in progress” and “the next great Narakite novel”, whatever that meant.

But then… there was also that guy. The head-basher by the name of Pazu, as Serac had since learned.

He was a soul who, in one short week, had deteriorated rapidly in both body and spirit. His self-inflicted injuries only got worse and worse with each passing day, and if Serac weren’t mistaken, his eyes looked noticeably hazier than how she’d remembered them a week ago—and it wasn’t because of early-onset cataracts.

Was Pazu becoming Frenzied right before their eyes? Was this what happened to Penitents who’d been tortured beyond their limits—whether by Jailers or by themselves? And given enough time weighed down with hopelessness, would all Rakshasas stuck on this side of the Sanzu River eventually fall to Frenzy?

Come to think of it, it was a small wonder that Serac herself had stayed relatively sane all this time. And doubly so for someone as old as Ravi. Perhaps there was something to be said for the elder’s devotion to his prayers, especially if they were what kept him Zen throughout his hellish existence.

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And Serac wondered, not for the first time, about the murky origins of her own inborn Zen.

Well, be that as it might, today was Day Seven of her and Zacko’s arrival in Last Sorrow—the one-week anniversary of their prison break. For reasons unclear to herself, Serac had a good feeling about today. ‘Seven’ just felt like a good number: six plus one, and therefore the beginning of a new ‘cycle’.

After their morning patrol, the Wayfarer pair took a quick reconstitution break at the Hubstation before making their way to a nearby promontory. It was an outcropping of pink rocks that provided the best view of the plateaus on the other side of the Canyon. From here, they could keep an eye on any Ferry-related activities that might be headed their way, and react accordingly to intercept.

Normally, they’d go through this lookout portion of their day in companionable silence, with each lost in their own thoughts and recollections. Today was Day Seven, however, and Serac found herself to be chattier than usual. And to her surprise and delight, Zacko seemed to mirror her mood.

“You think he’ll snap out of it eventually?” was the first thing Zacko asked her, apropos of nothing that had preceded it. As such, it took her a second or two to realize what he meant.

“Are you asking if Pazu will stop torturing himself to death if we all get around him and… do nothing? Which is what we’re already doing?”

Zacko turned to gawk at Serac, somewhat aghast. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the sarcastic one. But also, yes, that’s about the gist of what I was asking.”

“I don’t think he’ll die. Not to brag, but we Rakshasas are made of pretty stern stuff, considering how ‘penitence’ is like our whole thing. But… even if he lives, I’m not sure he’ll be able to stay himself for much longer, if you catch my drift.”

Zacko’s uneasy silence indicated that he did.

“Why do you wanna know, anyway?” Serac asked, and not without a small knowing smile. “Since when do you care if anyone other than you lives or dies?”

“Careful, Serac. I might not look it, but I’ve had my share of… reckoning with life and death,” Zacko said, his tone carrying just a whiff of the warning in his words. He let out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But to answer your question, I guess this is just what happens when you spend enough time in hell. Everything is so uniformly shit here that, eventually, your shit just blends with everyone else’s—you see that?”

Serac did. Across the Canyon and atop the plateaus on the ‘wide’ side of the Sanzu River, a great pink sandstorm had kicked up, obscuring but also clearly announcing the presence of the man they’d all been waiting for.

The sandstorm only grew in size and intensity as it ‘descended’ the sheer drop on the other side. Then, as the storm reached the very bottom, Fibrin’s white joined the substrate’s pink to produce a candy-cane-colored maelstrom that marched across the Canyon floor at speed. Whatever was kicking up the spectacle was clearly capable of shredding the Fibrin where it lay, making itself immune to the web’s immobilizing effects.

This did catch Serac by surprise. Since the moment she’d heard about the Ferryman and his Steed’s ability to bypass the Fibrinous minefield, she’d pictured an animal of some description that could fly over the Canyon. Now, she was more curious than ever to meet this thing that could simply run through everything in its path.

The Wayfarer pair shelved their debate to instead focus on the new task. They sprinted along the cliff edge, farther away from Last Sorrow, as they tried to align themselves with the Ferry’s course.

After a week of ‘farming’ the local Aberrants, Serac had brought herself up to KL-9, with one additional point in [Ambition] (to bring Cartridge past the breakpoint of 48) and two in [Attunement] (for better MP flexibility). Zacko was still in negative Karma, so he was stuck at KL-16, but hey, at least both of them were freshly reconstituted and itching for action.

They were in decent shape to present a boss with some challenge, and who knew? Perhaps, with some luck, they could even win this fight first try.

The thing that was driving the sandstorm now climbed up the wall on the near side of the Canyon. It was a purely vertical climb, straight up and down, but the Ferryman’s Infernal Steed made short work of it, losing not a fraction of its velocity as it tore up the cliff walls. And here, for the first time, the Steed in question broke through the storm of its own making, thereby revealing itself in its full fearsome glory.

For all her morbid excitement and curiosity, Serac’s main reaction upon seeing the Steed was one of utter bewilderment. For one thing, it wasn’t an animal she’d ever known of, in this or another life. In fact, it wasn’t an animal at all.

The thing was massive, large enough to comfortably house at least a few dozen Penitents with plenty more room to spare. Each of its four corners was buttressed by bulky battlements, whose parapets were lined with all manner of medieval weaponry.

The foundations, on the other hand, writhed continuously with razor-sharp teeth that jutted out in radial patterns and spun in place. It was these spinning, gnashing teeth that sliced through the Fibrin web with ease while also providing the propulsive force behind the whole structure.

Because this thing was decidedly not an animal—or any kind of ‘living thing’, for that matter. No, it was a castle, complete with grimy stone walls that told its history of bloodshed and domination, one section of which had been cut away to allow its castellan to keep his glinting eyes on the road.

[Designation: VETALA Ferryman of the Desolation]

[Aberrant Race: Hellspawn]

[Aberrant Class: Field Boss]

[INFERNAL Instrument/Steed: ASHVANAGA the Fallen Fortress]

Seeing this, Serac’s unearned confidence fell apart in an instant. Because, unbeknownst to her and her Wayfaring companion, they’d been preparing all week for the wrong task.

What they had on their hands wasn’t a boss fight. No, no one had told them that they were meant to siege a castle.