Thief of Souls

Part One: Chapter One

The first thing Siori felt when she awoke was not something she had expected to feel waking in the Spirit Realm, the Domain of the Gods.

She felt strangely at peace.

It was not a total willing peace, mind you. It was as if a haze covered her mind and she could not see what was in front of her but it was fine because it made her feel better.

Wait no. The haze was real and not just in her mind. She watched as it swirled and jumped, touched by a person’s robe it spun angrily; swatted away by another's hand and it flew back annoyed. It seemed to be alive in a way that made it seem like it had a mind of its own.

A reddish glow permeated the mist, becoming soft and muddled as it traveled through it. She looked up noticing the heavy metal lanterns, each with a red flame inside. But as she stood further on her toes, she realized with horror that it was not a flame.

They were tiny souls. Some banged on the glass while others burned there, resigned to their fate. Siori gulped, pity flaring through her as she stumbled back.

The sandy black ground stretched beyond her in all directions, the promising gentle slaps of water sounding from her left, the direction all the other spirits were stepping in, herded by guides in dark clothes and silver masks, a ghoulish smile on each to greet the newly dead.

In the low red light, they look positively demonic.

She shuddered and quickly joined the line, cutting in front of a young boy missing his hand. When she glanced back again, she noticed him twirling an orange maple leaf. From where he had plucked it from in this barren landscape she did not know. The trees here were black and withered, sinking back into the sand that had birthed them.

Siori gasped and rustled through the deep pockets of her trousers, worry making her flounder in her search. The first two times they came up empty but on the third she reached deep enough to find them.

The flute and the blue feather.

She smiled at them pinching the holes of the flute imagining it was Alis encouraging her and instructing her to straighten her back. She put them back, glad the objects were with her in this realm.

A covering with a layered red and black roof gleamed ahead, a ferry boat, good luck windchimes, and demon masks on the sides. The crimson lanterns on each of its corners bobbed and swayed, the souls within dangerously flickering in and out.

From the stories she knew and her inferences from her observations, she could make the guess that this was The Gate. A desolate place that held only the dock, the waters beyond, and an endless stretch of black sand. And of course, a line of the dead stretching back as far as the eye could see.

It didn’t take as long as Siori would’ve thought to inch forward to the front. But the eery silence of her companions in death, the steady rocking of the ferry, and the hushed whispers of the black water made it seem longer as well. It could've been hours or days and she wouldn’t be able to tell. Because how was one to tell the passage of time in a place where its rules did not apply with any normal logic?

The muted colors of this place and her growing anxiety for what her journey would entail eased slightly as she got to the front. Her boots crept forward in time, and when they finally touched the solid dark wood of the docks, she was able to release a breath even as a bony hand guided her into the ferry. It felt odd beneath her touch, each joint very much felt but she tried not to dwell on it.

The souls of the dead piled in around her, quiet shades ready to pass into their next life. She was so close to death, practically half dead herself, and felt like a fraud next to them, ashamed to sit in the middle of the morbid party of the dead.