Princess Magnificent
Chapter 1 - Catfish
"You awake, Catfish?" A man's voice demanded. Something pushed my shoulder, and I slowly came to my senses. It was too dark to see much, but a campfire was crackling about ten feet away, and I could smell the smoke. It was unusually harsh and acrid. I couldn't tell exactly what was burning, but it smelled like some kind of marsh plant.
The stench made me cough, and the man who'd been poking me took a step back.
I groaned and slowly rolled over. I'd been drug for awhile, at least judging by the quantity of mud on my clothes. My rescuer had left me lying on damp, rocky ground, propped up just a little. I was soaking wet, and the air was bone cold.
The man who'd been trying to wake me pointed a stout hickory club at my face. He was old, with only a few teeth left in his head, and skin like saddle leather. He was dressed in a rags and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in months. One of his eyes didn't focus, and the other was gray and obviously sightless. The thing that caught my attention, however, was a red silk ribbon tied around his wrist. It was a very pretty thing, and stood out in stark contrast to his wretched appearance.
"No funny business," the old man warned.
I coughed. My throat was raw, which made talking difficult, but I held up my hand and hoped that the old man would be patient with me. He brought me a waterskin, and I drank it down as fast as I could. It tasted like ash, and sat in my stomach like lead.
The old man laughed. "Heh. Does that help?"
"Not exactly," I confessed. I wanted to ask him what had happened to me, but I was troubled by how little I remembered myself. I tried to sit up, by my limbs felt weak. I finally managed to pull myself to my knees. My head swam, and I immediately retched.
There wasn't anything of consequence in my stomach, but there was a lot more water than I'd just drank. I suspected that I'd nearly drowned. It seemed plausible, although I didn't remember being on a sea voyage. When I considered that, I realized that I didn't remember much of anything.
Where was I?
Who was I?
I studied my clothing. It was simple and serviceable, mostly brown, and obviously designed for fighting. I wasn't wearing a much armor, but I did have a pair of scuffed steel vanbraces on my wrists and a beat-up gorget around my neck. I looked like a soldier, but I didn't feel comfortable. I immediately suspected that I was wearing a disguise of some kind. Still, playing the part of a soldier gave me something to go on.
"Catfish?" The old man pressed.
Although it felt distinctly unfamiliar, I didn't balk at the name that the old man gave me. Any name was better than no name at all.
"I'm all right," I nodded. "Just... a little disoriented. What happened to me?"
The old man shrugged.
I sighed. A sharp prick on my neck caused me to jump.
"Ow, damnit!" I cursed, swatting at the insect. Whatever it was, I missed it.
"What's wrong?" The old man asked.
"Something bit me," I replied. I rubbed the spot, which was still sore. I could already tell it was going to swell up. "I think it was a spider."
"That's impossible," he said.
"It's impossible to find bugs in a swamp?" I laughed slightly, mostly to relieve my own growing unease.
"This isn't a swamp," he informed me. "This is the Underworld. You're dead."
"You're lying," I protested, although he sounded quite serious. I realized slowly that I'd actually expected to be dead, although I still couldn't recall the last thing that had happened to me.
"I am not. I took you from the River Styx myself. Saw you on the bottom, and pulled you out like a catfish," he replied.
I smiled slightly. A story like that gave a name some weight. Now it sounded like a soldier's nickname. I could be "Catfish", at least until I learned who I really was. Still, I was curious about my rescuer's motivation. Pulling someone out of the River Styx seemed like a dangerous thing to do.
"Not that I'm ungrateful... but why help me?" I asked. "There must be thousands of people in the River Styx."
"Millions," the old man corrected. "And more every day, what with all those wars up there in the Scavenger Lands."
He pointed to the sky, or at least what I thought was the sky. It was pitch black, and there were hardly any stars. Although I couldn't see more than four feet in any direction, I got the distinct impression that I wasn't missing anything. There wasn't a trace of grass or moss on the ground. I couldn't hear any of the usual nighttime sounds of insects and birds. There were some trees nearby, but they were all dead. And yet even in death, they weren't covered in lichens or mushrooms. A fungus would have been alive, and there was no life at all in the place I'd come to.
"This really is the Underworld, isn't it?" I observed.
"I told you so," the old man replied.
"Shit," I said. It seemed like an appropriate response.
For a moment, the old man didn't say anything. He gave me a look that seemed like pity, and I turned away from him. I didn't want anyone's pity. The only thing I was certain of was that I'd died for a reason. I hoped it had been a good one.
I heard the sound of a branch snapping nearby and my hand instinctively went for my hip. I discovered an empty scabbard, the right size and shape to hold a longsword. I was unarmed. I was not accustomed to being unarmed. Maybe I was a soldier?
The old man laughed, holding up two pieces of a stick. He'd made the noise on purpose, to gauge my reaction. When he saw me reach for the sword I didn't have, he produced a blade from the folds of his ragged cloak and handed it to me.
I studied my sword. It was a beautiful weapon, light and elegant. The steel carried an unusual golden sheen, and the hilt was set with a single large, luminous gemstone the color of the ocean. When I held it, I felt a sense of rightness. The armor I was wearing might not have been my own, but that sword belonged to me.
"That's how I found you," he confessed. "I saw it glittering on the bottom of the river, and I thought it might be worth money. But I see now that it's more than that. It's your fetter."
"What's a fetter?" I asked. I'd never heard of such a thing.
"When most people come to the Underworld, they become infected with a thing called Lethe. Lethe makes you forget who you were in the world of the living, bit by bit. Eventually, you wander off to the River Styx to get carried into Oblivion. From there, your soul goes on to its next life. But you don't. The person you were ceases to exist," the old man explained.
As he got to talking, I realized that the old man was unusually sharp. Although he looked like a ragged beggar, he spoke like someone with an education. I wondered who he'd been in life. How had he died?
"A fetter is something that keeps you from moving on," he continued. "Usually, it's a small thing. A wedding ring. A bent nail. I've never seen anyone with a sword before. Whatever you were doing before you died must have been important."
He gestured to the ribbon tied around his wrist. "This is my fetter. It belonged to my daughter," he explained. "I don't know how old she is, or even if she lives. I can't tell you her name. To be honest, I don't know my own name either, but you can call me Ribbon. Everyone does."
I sheathed my sword and offered him my hand. "Well, thank you, Ribbon. I suppose I owe you my life, not that I actually have one. Is this all there is down here? Dead forests?"
Ribbon chuckled. "Of course not. I like coming out here for a little peace and quiet, that's all. We're not from Thousand," he explained. "The Underworld has cities and states, just as the world of the living does. This is the territory of the First and Forsaken Lion."
That name sounded familiar. I said nothing.
"The Lion is a Deathlord. One of the thirteen rulers of this realm. Thousand is his fortress," Ribbon advised. "It's more of a city than a fortress, really. About seven-hundred thousand souls. Mostly dead like us."
I nodded solemnly, still absorbing everything I'd been told. "So how do I get back to the world of the living?" I asked.
"You don't," Ribbon replied sharply. "We're a thousand miles from the nearest Shadowland. As a ghost, you could use a Shadowland to cross over, but sunrise would be the end of you. Unless you know exactly where you need to be, it's a rather worthless endeavor. The only other way I know of is to go over the falls and into Oblivion. And even then, you won't go back. You'll just go onto your next life."
"Then what's the point of this fetter?" I demanded, gesturing to my sword. "How do I finish my unfinished business?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here!" Ribbon sighed. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Catfish. The Underworld is no place for heroes. Just getting by unnoticed is difficult enough. There are men down here who've forgotten how to be men, and things that never were mortal. Even if it doesn't accomplish anything, those of us who are still chained to the world of the living try to look out for one another," Ribbon explained. "It keeps us human."
I stared at my sword.
Although Ribbon seemed to believe it was impossible, I was not going to give up. I knew I needed to get back to the world of the living, and there had to be a way. My stomach turned an uncomfortable loop, and I thought I was about to throw up again.
"Is there food in the Underworld?" I asked. "I think a little bread would settle my stomach."
"It won't," Ribbon replied. "And you can drink all the water you want, but you'll still be thirsty. It's part of being dead. You'll get used to it."
"I doubt that. What about alcohol?" I asked.
"Well, it won't get you drunk," he said. "Nothing is any good here unlessit's left for you as an offering in the world of the living."
"An offering? You mean, like a little cup of wine or some rice cakes on a grave?"
"That's it," Ribbon nodded. "So should we find out if anyone loves you?"
"Sounds good to me," I agreed.
Ribbon offered me his club and heaved me to my feet.