InsaneJournal

A slow and silent stream...
Who: Lethe [closed narrative]
What: Death, and what comes next.
Where: The Underworld
When: Some time after being killed by Wrath.

There was no ferryman in this part of the Underworld, and without oars to guide it the little boat simply drifted along with the slow current. This didn't seem to bother the lone passenger who sat placidly within; she, after all, had nowhere to go, and was as content simply to float here as anywhere.

And it was peaceful here on the river. There was something quite pretty - comforting, even - about the water, which was dark and yet, when viewed from a certain angle, seemed to take on an almost silvery quality. For a time, she lost herself in the study of the soft waves and ripples, and the subtle shifts of hue they created in the water's surface. Then a brief flash of red flickered at the corner of her gaze and, distracted, she raised her eyes to find herself looking at the river bank. There, growing in amongst the dust and pebbles that lined her shore, was a small patch of poppies, creating a surprising splash of colour in the midst of this shadowy place.

Inevitably, though, her thoughts always circled back to the river. How calm it was. If she gazed at it long enough, she could almost imagine that there was no boat; simply her and the water, drifting along in tandem. Nothing to separate them at all.

How long had she been floating like this? Minutes? Hours? Longer? She had no way of knowing. Indeed, had anyone been present at that moment to ask the question, she would undoubtedly have replied that she had been there her whole life.

By and by, a small wooden pier came into sight, and although she had not so much as touched it, the boat angled itself toward that spot as if of its own accord. Lethe, who would have been quite content to continue drifting, felt a ripple of surprise. It had never occurred to her that the journey might have an end to it and as she saw it approach, she found she was not entirely sure whether she wanted it to. But her course was not to be changed and, slowing now, the boat pulled up alongside the pier. There was nothing to secure it, but there it stayed; bobbing gently, but otherwise unmoved by the pull of the river. And somehow, she knew that this was as far as the little vessel would take her.

And so, regretfully, Lethe climbed out of the boat and onto the platform. It took a few stumbling steps for her to find her balance as her body adjusted to the feel of solid ground beneath her feet, and once she had steadied herself it occurred to her that she had no idea where to go from here. Not back to the river, that much was clear, but if not there then where? Was there anything else?

As she took a step, her foot brushed something hard which rolled away with a clatter - and, distracted by the sound, Lethe stooped to investigate it. It was a cup, she found; a small, metal cup, and as she took it up it suddenly occurred to her just how thirsty she was. How long had it been since she had had something to drink?

This, at least, was easily achieved. It was a simple thing to fill the cup with river water and, straightening, she raised it to her parched lips.

"I had thought that all souls of the departed entered the Underworld via the Akheron." Lethe started, causing water to slop over the brim of the cup. She spun around to find a tall woman watching her from the other end of the pier. Her features, though elegant, seemed stern, but they softened into a slight smile upon Lethe's appraisal, and the stranger added, "But then, it does make sense that you would come here."

"Who are you?" Lethe managed.

"You know my name, little river-sister."

Lethe was about to object, to declare that she had never met this stern-faced woman in her life, but as the stranger resolutely held her gaze she felt something. Something feather-light which brushed across the edge of her mind, And she realised at once that she did know. She struggled to bring this fragile memory into focus. "Nessy... Nem...?"

"Mnemosyne." The woman supplied gently. But now her eyes were no longer on Lethe's, but on the cup in her hand. And it seemed to Lethe that just for a moment an expression of wry amusement flickered across her face. "Leave that. I daresay you've drunk your fill of this particular river."

This didn't make any sense to Lethe, who frowned. "But I'm thirsty."

"I know." She didn't know when Mnemosyne had closed the several-foot gap between them, but now the woman was gently extracting the cup from her hand. "But I think I can offer you a more... suitable drink, given the circumstances. Come."

And Lethe, obedient, did. She followed Mnemosyne away from the shore, through one shadowy passage and from there into another, which brought them to the entrance of a larger cavern. "Here," said her guide.

The light inside this cave was brighter than elsewhere, although where the extra illumination was coming from Lethe could not say. But what made it truly remarkable was that it was perfectly round - naturally so, apparently - almost as though the Earth's forces had deliberately shaped it to house the circular pool within. The water here was clear but deep, quite unlike the mysterious dark waters of the river they had left behind, although Lethe fancied she could almost make out that same silvery sheen that had so fascinated her before. "Where are we?" She asked.

"The pool of Mnemosyne. You'll find what you need here." Mnemosyne placed something in her hand, and it took Lethe a moment to realise that it was the same metal cup from which the woman had stopped her from drinking before. Her eyes were dark and serious. "Go, drink your fill, river-sister."

Lethe frowned a moment, opened her mouth as if to say something - then stopped.

Well. She was thirsty, after all.

So for the second time, Lethe knelt to fill her cup. This time there was nobody to stop her from drinking as she brought it to her lips.

The water was icy-cold, painfully so. The type of cold that stung the throat as it went down and made one's head ache, as it might from eating ice cream too quickly. And then it spread, the stinging sensation washing through the tunnels of her mind and into every corner of her awareness.

The pool of Mnemosyne - Memory - was the antithesis of the River Lethe. The waters of forgetfulness offered comfort of the simplest kind: the uncomplicated peace of oblivion. One sip from the Lethe would wash away all memory - pleasurable and painful alike, the best along with the worst. One sip, and the dead would forget their sorrows, forget that they had anything to miss or pine for in the life they had left behind; and for those destined for reincarnation, provide a blank slate for the life they were preparing to enter.

The waters of memory were similarly indiscriminate. One sip from this pool and the drinker would recall everything - not just the moments of happiness and triumph, but also those of pain, humiliation, despondence and failure. Mnemosyne offered no simple comforts. It gave its drinker not so much what they wanted as what they needed. For didn't hatred and sadness define a person just as much as did love and joy? What meaning had the latter, how precious could it truly be, if one had no experience of the former? And what lessons could be learned from the failures of life if these were kept hidden away, submerged?

Lethe remembered.

She remembered anew the pain of the attacks on her worshippers and the shock discovery of her fading memory. She remembered the tense meetings and the fear that had presided. She remembered the kindness of a stranger and the betrayal of a mother.

Mother. Mother, who had done this to her, had hurt her friends. Mother, who had acted only as ever did would, on her nature. Mother, who had betrayed her. Mother, who had held her so tightly as though she could never be made to let go, who had promised that nobody else would hurt her.

She even remembered those last, foggy days, seeing them all with new eyes now she had the context for them.

And she remembered her death. The unexpected collision, and the inexplicable rage of an immortal she had never even met. The searing agony of the knife slicing between her ribs and embedding itself in her heart. All that pain.

The cup had rolled out of her hand, and without realising it she had fallen to her knees. Her body trembled was centuries of memories flooded violently back to their rightful place, and she made a noise that fell somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The waters were unapologetic. Each hurt stung anew as she was made to recall it, each embarrassment brought a warm flush to her cheeks. A lifetime of experience and emotion she was made to recall with perfect vividness, all in a matter of seconds. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

But she remembered.

And she knew, with sudden clarity, what was to come next.