Page 30 of Katabasis
Peter’s voice wavered. “I don’t...”
Why couldn’t he see? This was no hallucination. Alice was certain. She knew this deity. She’d seen her crop up over centuries of texts. Old Lady Meng Po, guardian of the river, mother of memory. Her task was to distill those violent waters into a fragrant herbal liquor. When souls crossed over it was the lady’s wine they drank; sweet and cooling, eternal relief. The forgetting of rebirth, not of obliteration. The lady met Alice’s eyes, and her mouth stretched into a slow, wrinkled smile. There was no malice in that smile; only a simple, guileless kindness.Drink, she said; and though no sound carried over the waves Alice understood perfectly what she meant.Drink, and be at peace, and be gone.
Oh, how wonderful that would be! Alice had thought rescuing Professor Grimes from Hell was the solution to her problems—but why go to all that effort? She almost laughed. Here was the real answer: to wash away the dregs upon her mind and come out the other side dewy clean; a mewling babe ready to start afresh. Memories rushed to the fore of her skull, hot and choking foul, and all she could think then was how nice it would be to offload them to the depths; to swirl away and then disseminate forever. She was so tired of the contents of her mind. Her thoughts were so loud; theypoundedher skull, it never stopped, it was all too much. For a long time now it had been all too much. Everyone was so afraid of the Lethe—keep away, they said; stay dry—but why didn’t they understand it was mercy? All the stories were wrong—no siren’s call was as alluring as the sea itself, and the quiet dark beyond the shore.
Peter said sharply, “Law.”
She looked down, and saw she’d crossed halfway to the river. Peter stood yards away at the bank above. That was odd. She didn’t remember moving her feet. “How...?”
Peter waved, the way one might at a misbehaving dog. “Why don’t you come back up here.”
Alice blinked at the river. “How very strange.” But she couldn’t move.
Peter waved again, more urgently this time. “Come on, Law. Please.”
“No.” Someone else’s voice came out of her; a musical tone, indifferent. Alice liked it; she liked to be spoken for. The river decided for her. “I think I shall go for a swim.”
The river roared louder, drowning out whatever Peter said next.
Alice did not care. She could actually feel her mind deflating, like a pricked balloon, all that terrible pressure removed at last. The image of forceful waters rushing through every crevice, flushing out the debris, smoothing the contours of her mind, until the whole worm-eaten rot had vanished and left only smooth bone, baby clear. She felt that unanchoring again, which ought to have terrified her—she reached for her staircase but it was not there, the rush was too loud. But this time she had no fear. The tumble was a good thing; the fall was not further in, but toward the empty. The baptism was upon her.Yes, she thought—yes, yes, we are almost there—
Suddenly Peter was beside her. He gripped her arm, so hard it hurt.
“Ouch,” she said.
“Law, look at me.”
“Let me go.”
Hands clapped against her temples, forced her gaze from the river and upon Peter’s face. She had not looked into those eyes up close in so long.What long lashes he has, she thought,miraculously long for a boy; what a lovely face, too, pity it makes me think of cruel laughter, slamming doors—
“Breathe,” said Peter. “Just breathe.”
Don’t patronize, Alice wanted to say, but by instinct she obeyed, and the whooshing in her lungs dimmed the river’s roar, just a little bit. She felt again the edges of her mind. Tired grooves of being.
“What’s your name?” asked Peter.
She knew the answer! Yes, her catechism—she had practiced this, this was easy. It all came out in one breath. The staircase reappeared, and up she climbed. “I am Alice Law I am a postgraduate at Cambridge I study analytic magick—”
“Very good,” said Peter. “Now can you follow me?”
Alice wasn’t sure; she had forgotten how to make her limbs respond to her command.
“Just look at me,” said Peter. “Hold on to me. There you go.”
Step by step they started back up the bank. Alice’s legs moved like lead. It seemed inordinately difficult to put one foot in front of the other.
“Almost there,” said Peter. “You’re so close. You’ve just got to finish out.”
She spoke as if in a dream, half-unaware of the words coming out her own mouth. “I feel sometimes it is so difficult to be conscious.”
“I know,” said Peter.
Such heavy feet. Like dragging rocks. “And I think anything would be easier. Anything at all.”
“There’s time for that.” Peter grasped her by the elbow; firm, but gentle. His voice was soft. “It’ll always be waiting, Law. But we’ve got things to do.”
On they trudged, following the pathalong the river. Peter strode ahead and Alice kept pace in silence, feeling embarrassed. The allure of the Lethe had diminished now that they were further off the bank, and Alice wished she had not made such a fuss. She was not sure now whether she’d seen the Lady Meng Po after all. Really, it was such a brief glimpse. She might have just been remembering a painting, or even a firm description become imagination. Her memory did that sometimes; she confused memories and reality, her imagination was too vivid, she couldn’t help it. But Peter politely made no comment, and Alice made no defense, and gradually they sank into a thoughtless, plodding trance. Alice probed about her skull and found to her relief that the sloshing had settled, the rush faded. The catechism had worked, and she had a grip on her thoughts once again.
