Eight Legs Too Many

Chapter 16: Shiori Does Not Approve of Resorting to Cannibalism

Shiori's guess proved correct. They had only made it a third of the way down the mountain when the octopus blizzard commenced.

It was, Shiori reflected, a good thing she'd insisted on bringing a hazmat suit. Even with the suit, clambering over the rocky ground, which was slippery and writhing with octopus parts, proved more treacherous than Shiori had expected. Dark clouds blocked out the sun, making it hard to see the path, and she lost track of the number of times she lost her balance and almost careened down the mountain.

Devland was having an even harder time than she was. His protective magic bubble kept him dry, but it didn't sweep aside the octopuses that already littered ground in clumps, which meant he had no protection when he slipped and fell. He had already come close to landing on several octopuses, and Shiori feared his death date would be rapidly accelerated if they kept this up.

It felt like hours, though it was probably just fifteen minutes, before they arrived at a shelter. 'Shelter' was a generous term. It was more of a craggy overhang, behind which lay a narrow cave, barely large enough for both of them to squeeze in together. The cave was dark in the back, and might have led somewhere else, but neither of them felt the urge to explore.

"Let's rest here a bit," Shiori panted. "At least until the rain slows down."

Devland nodded, looking relieved.

They sat down on the rocks at the entrance to the cave. Rather than letting up, the sky seemed to be darkening, though whether from the encroaching nightfall or from an uptick of octopuses, Shiori couldn't be sure.

"Having a Death day," Shiori mused. "Does that mean you're definitely going to die on that day? Or could you die earlier, but that's the day they'll send a reaper to harvest your soul?"

She'd been thinking hard about this ever since Devland's confession.

"It just seems awfully strange to have a scheduled death day," she said. "If you were to jump off the edge of a cliff right now, would you survive? I find that hard to believe. So would they swap you around on the calendar with someone else, to er... even out the quota?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" said Devland.

"I'm a scientist." Shiori raised her chin. "It's in the job description."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd do me the kindness of not testing your hypothesis by pushing me off the nearest cliff," he deadpanned.

Shiori wondered if he was already starting to regret telling her about his death day.

"I don't know the answer," he said finally. "Death, as you may have surmised, has never been very forthcoming. All the information I've gleaned from him about the underworld has been inferred... or else told to me when he was very drunk."

"I see."

"I do have a hypothesis. My guess is that the death day is the day that the reaper comes to get you, but your soul stays on earth until then."

"Just... floating about?"

"I suppose so. It's not like it would have much else to occupy itself with. I suppose if there was some unfinished business it might linger over that... like a ghost."

The conversation seemed to be making him uncomfortable. Shiori cast around for a different topic.

"Do you know how to build a fire? I mean... on the off-chance we have to stay here overnight?"

Devland shot her a cagey look. It was the look of a man who has spent half his life in a city with smartphones and hot showers at his disposal, for whom the words 'roughing it' induced a particularly violent brand of distaste, bordering almost on panic.