Verrin’s Memory to the Ferryman

[Verrin]

My arms have gone numb from swinging my sword. Each strike is slower now, heavier. The gates behind us are still open, and as long as they are, we fight. We must fight. The wall of teeth and flesh presses forward, a tide of hunger that will never stop unless we stop it.

(FEAR)

Above the roar of the horde, I hear Poet shouting—no, mimicking Simon’s voice in that perfect imitation:
“CLOSE THE GATES!”

But I’m too far. There’s no making it back in time.

So I make a choice.

“LOOK AT ME!” I bellow, the sound ripping from my throat. “AREN’T YOU HUNGRY?! HERE! COME TO ME!”

(TAUNT)

They turn. The wall shifts. I’ve bought a moment. That’s all they’ll need.

Sweat drips from my brow as the mass of snarling faces closes in around me—

—

—And then the sweat drips again, this time under a warm sun.

The plow hits something and skips sideways, clattering uselessly in the hard-packed soil. I curse under my breath. Elara laughs, dressed in her favorite purple gown, light catching in her hair like flame. I grumble, but it’s no use—soon I’m laughing too, the stubborn dirt forgotten for a moment.

I stare at the ground that’s bested me.

But it’s my ground. Ours. We chose this. We wanted this.

The memory flickers like smoke.

A sound, like metal striking stone.

A voice:
“Your payment has been accepted…”

[Author]

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