"Who are you to walk through the dark mists before Death has summoned you?" one of them demanded.
"This place will fill you with horror and drive you mad!" said another form. It was not a friendly warning; the voice sounded gleeful at the prospect.
"You will be trapped here forever unless Death deigns to release you!"
Oriana looked from face to face. Their threats didn't terrify her; if she couldn't save Quaren, she didn't care what happened to her. But his face was not among the ones around her.
"Why have you come here?" one of the spirits challenged her, facing her through the gates.
"I am looking for my husband," Oriana replied steadily.
"Husband!" The spirit laughed. It was not a happy sound. "Do you see him here?"
"No," Oriana answered.
"Perhaps he is on the Isle of the Blessed," one of the others said sarcastically. Oriana started; the voice sounded very much like that of her eldest sister, who had almost invariably used that tone when talking to her. Well, she knew how to deal with sarcastic bullying.
"Perhaps he is," Oriana agreed quietly.
"And do you plan to go all the way there to look for him?" This spirit also seemed to have been female; its face reminded Oriana of the way her sisters used to look when they teased her.
"Yes," she said firmly, "I do."
This produced a great burst of hilarity, and the spirits pulled open the gates and bowed Oriana through or perhaps they were simply doubled up with laughter. Oriana walked quickly past them, glad that Quaren wasn't there. Even for the sake of finding him easily, she wouldn't wish him condemned to such company. But it was odd that he could have gone so far so quickly. Was he truly already on the Isle of the Blessed?
The mocking laughter faded into the distance behind her and was replaced by the sound of water lapping sluggishly against the shore. Oriana knew this landmark well. The river had many names, but everyone knew one had to cross it to get to the Isle of the Blessed. Some people said there was a ferry across it and buried their dead with coins for passage money. Oriana had always thought that story rather fanciful, and certainly she saw no sign of a boat or a landing for one now.
She looked down at the dagger in her hands; it was glowing faintly. She took a few steps downstream and the glow faded, brightening again when she returned to her original position. When she continued walking upstream, the glow got even brighter. She watched it carefully and stopped when it started to fade again. Obviously this was as close to Quaren as she could get on this side of the river. He must be on the land opposite her, which she could see dimly through the thin ghostly river mists. The river was eerie, but the current wasn't particularly swift and Oriana had never been afraid of getting wet. Still, she knew she had better get across this water as quickly as possible; one of the names for this river was Oblivion.
She stepped in and gasped. The water was colder than anything she'd ever felt in her life probably, she thought, colder than anything anyone ever felt in their life. Gritting her teeth so they wouldn't chatter, she slogged on. Step, step and another step. Come on, you can do it, she admonished herself. Remember to keep the dagger dry. Step, step, step
She sat in the grass, under the trees. She was wet up to her breasts, but it didn't matter; she'd dry fast enough in the sun, which was making lacy patterns as it shone through the leaves. It was so peaceful and so beautiful. She was perfectly content to sit there and watch the play of the light and listen to the rustling of the leaves. The birds were singing, the squirrels were chattering; it was the kind of morning that made one glad to be alive.
Alive. For some reason the word bothered her. But why? What's wrong with being alive? Her fingers, idly tracing the dagger in her lap, touched the braid of hair around the hilt, and her memory returned with wrenching suddenness. Quaren. My husband is dead, and I came here to save him.
She stood up and pulled at her wet robes, which seemed determined to cling awkwardly to her body. She started to remove the layers of veiling, but stopped after the first two. The light about her was getting too bright to bear without veils. Obviously the living were not meant to wander unveiled in the land of the dead. Is this why widows wear veils? Has someone before me done this, and succeeded? She tucked the extra veils under her arm and started through the woods, trusting that the faint pull from the dagger was a true guide.
She was concentrating so hard on the dagger that she nearly tripped over the boy. He appeared to be about eight or nine years old and he was lying against a tree trunk, turning a leaf between his fingers. He wore a short silverblue tunic which matched both his eyes and his hair, and his skin looked so pale as to be true white. Oriana apologized automatically, and he looked startled, as if he hadn't noticed her presence before.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked with the directness of childhood. "You're so faint I can barely see you."
Oriana thought about it. She looked normal enough to herself, but she had to admit that he looked somehow more solid than she did. "I guess it's because I'm not dead at least I don't think I am." She looked down at the braid on the dagger. The hair was still dark, except for a few strands of silver in the hair that had come from Quaren, and Oriana felt somehow certain that it would look different if she were dead.
"You're alive? Really?" The boy seemed to find this a strange idea. "What are you doing here, then?"
"Looking for my husband."
"Oh." He frowned, puzzled. "Aren't you supposed to wait until you're dead, too?"
Oriana smiled for the first time in several days. "Maybe that part of my education was neglected. Did your parents teach you proper etiquette for the Shadowlands?"
"My parents didn't teach me anything," he said matter-of-factly. "I was only a baby when I died."
"I'm sorry," Oriana said.
"Why? Lots of babies die. And I'd rather be here anyway."
"You'd rather be dead?" Oriana asked incredulously.
"Of course." To him, this was obvious. "Look, isn't this leaf beautiful?"
The leaf was indeed beautiful; in fact, everything around them was beautiful, which surprised Oriana. She had always thought that the Shadowlands were dim and dull, not at all like this filled with a bright beauty that hurt mortal eyes. For a moment she almost wished that she were dead, too, so that she could enjoy it freely, but her sense of duty and love toward her husband drove her to press on in her search. She duly admired the leaf and continued on her way as the boy returned to his contemplation of the beauty of unnatural nature.
She found Quaren in a stone-flagged courtyard. He was sitting on a marble bench with two other men, all discussing some terribly abstract philosophical theory. All three of them wore pale blue tunics like the boy's, and the two other men had the same silver-blue hair and eyes. Quaren's hair and eyes were still dark, but the gray that had been in his hair was gone. He looked much younger than he had in life, and his face glowed with the intellectual joy a good problem had always given him. But Oriana had never seen him look quite so happy before.
The sight of him made her heart turn over within her, and she wanted to walk over to him and fling her arms around him. Did my trip through the river make me forget how much I love him? she wondered. But for the moment it was enough just to see him again. She sat down on another bench in the courtyard and watched him as the men continued their discussion, content just to be in his presence and to see him happy.