The Weeping River

Chapter 5: Crossing

Grace had another dream. She saw herself at the bottom of the ocean, pinned to the sand by a heavy metal surgical cart. Her skin was milky white and her eyes stared unblinking into nothingness.

"Easy there. Easy."

The voice was gentle and hollow. It floated in through her ears like a cold breeze. Grace tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but she couldn't. She tried to breathe, but she couldn't. It was like she couldn't feel her body.

"Relax. Let it wash over you."

She tried to do as the voice said. Slowly but surely, she felt her form gradually slip out from the darkness. She felt her fingers twitch and her brow tighten.

"There we are. Now, try it again."

It was a dream, wasn't it? Everything was a dream?

Grace opened her eyes. No, there it was. The bone white sky. The fog. It was still there. She sat upright and retched like he hadn't taken a breath in days. Before her, sitting on the stump of a tree, was a silhouette of a man. It was entirely featureless, like he was made of shadow. Her voice croaked and cracked a few times before she managed to say, "W-Who are you?"

"I'm not going to hurt you," it said as it raised its hands. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Are you alright?"

The nurse swallowed and rubbed her forehead. "I feel...what the hell did you do to me?"

After pausing for a moment, the figure stood. "Nothing. This is all quite normal, Grace. You're becoming...acclimated to this place."

The man's mention of her name made her freeze.

"Do you want to see him again?" the figure interjected. "He didn't want to cross without you."

Grace swallowed. No matter how she strained her eyes, they couldn't pierce the veil of shadows that clutched the figure. It was as if she wasn't meant to behold his image.

"It's okay, Grace. I'm not going to hurt you. Come with me," it said as it extended a hand out towards her.

She jolted back a few steps. "N-No."

The silhouette stood from the tree stump and clasped his hands together. "There's nothing to be afraid of. He's waiting for you."

With that, it turned and paced away. Grace didn't know what came over her. After the figure vanished into the shroud of mist, she threw herself in after it. Following a few minutes of sprinting, she caught up with it. Nonchalantly, it peered over its shoulder and chuckled. "I knew you'd come after me. The love that a mother has for her child is something else. It's unquantifiable, immeasurable, isn't it?"

Grace fought the fear that robbed her of her words long enough to ask, "W-Who are you? Where are we? What happened to my friends?"

"So many questions, Grace. None of which are really that important. Oh, we're here," it deflected.

The pair of them came upon a grove of sorts in the middle of the forest. There were dozens of children wandering about, sitting idly, crying, or keeping themselves occupied with rocks, sticks, and leaves. The figure didn't stop; he approached one of the children without even looking at their face. "I have a surprise for you, Keith."

A small boy with deep brown hair shot to his feet and turned to Grace. He had freckles smeared across the bridge of his nose, a gap between his large front teeth, and his father's blue eyes. Grace remembered what he looked like before he passed away. So frail...so weak. The boy before her was stout and healthy.

"M-Mom? Is that really you?" Keith asked.

Grace's eyes filled with tears as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

The figure took a knee in front of Keith. "Your mother is still a little confused, okay? Maybe give her some time."

Keith nodded eagerly. His eyes glowed with empathy. "It's okay, mom. I was scared when I came here too."

Grace lowered herself to his height and wiped the tears away. "O-Oh God."

The boy charged into his mother's arms and they clutched onto each other for some time. Grace obviously couldn't see the figure's face, but she could sense a smile on his face. Keith pulled back and looked up at the figure. "Thank you for letting me wait for her, mister." Before the figure could reply, Keith's face scrunched up. "Wait, where's dad?"

The question took Grace off guard. Once again, she froze. The figure answered it. "He'll be coming soon. You two can cross first and wait for him somewhere more comfortable, okay?"

Keith smiled. "Okay. Come on, mom. Let's go!"

Grabbing her hand, Keith pulled Grace along as he followed the figure into the fog. The trees faded away, as did the grass. It was replaced by sand and boulders. Grace saw hundreds of other people milling about around her. The figure paid no mind to them. A wooden wharf of sorts, lined with dozens of confused people, extended out into the smoky water.

They stopped at the very end of the dock. "Shouldn't be too long now," said the figure. As they waited, Keith swung Grace's hand back and forth as he looked around at the ocean.

A boat pierced the fog; its bow sliced through it like a knife through butter. As the seconds went by, Grace could see that it was an incredibly long wooden rowboat. It had to stretch for at least twenty metres. At the rear of the vessel was another figure clad in a tattered hooded cloak, a long cracked oar grasped in its hands. He brought the boat into the dock, prompting all of the people to begin boarding. As he looked over the crowd, Grace could see a pair of piercing dark eyes upon a wrinkled face.

"Here," said the figure as he held a hand out. In its palm sat four rusty coins. "Two for you, and two for the boy."

Grace cocked her head. "What for...?"

The figure jiggled the coins around as he said, "The toll. He doesn't row for free, you know. Just make sure you give him one piece when you embark, then the other one when you alight."

Keith stood on his tippy toes in an effort to see the coins. "Why?"

With a laugh, the figure shook his head. "Just...trust me, okay?"

Grace accepted the coins and gave two to Keith. "Don't lose them, you hear? And do as our friend said. Just one first."

"Yes, mom," he said bashfully.

The two of them joined the stream of people moving onto the old man's boat, leaving the figure and not taking another look back. The old man and his boat took them over the only waters left uncharted by mankind.