We enter a ravine, past the forests of borscht fruit and crystals and statues, and they surround us. They all have the big hats, just like the ferryman, dry, crunchy, gray hair poking out and matched by flimsy canes with drab robes and loincloths. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, all watching us in silence.
"They're called vacants. Here's your locals."
I suddenly feel very cold and hold my knees up to my chest. "Why are they just staring at us like that?"
"They seem interested in you." Always been there, done that.
"Well, that makes two of us." I focus on our ferryman. Being surrounded by his people, he suddenly feels more alive, like I finally see him in full context. "What's with the fancy hats?"
"Oh, those aren't hats. They're masks." They're so large I couldn't even tell. "This one's been watching us since we left."
"He can see through that thing?" This entire time, I thought that he somehow was rowing out of habit and practice. The river is completely straight and fairly narrow with only a light current and he can take as long as he wants to paddle one way.
"The banshee trees from which they are carved are highly porous. Each vacant receives a uniquely carved mask when they arrive. A symbol of liberation from their former identity."
Guessing their sense of liberation isn't exactly like the kind I've been feeling. "What do you mean 'when they arrive?' Where do they come from?"
"A world long lost."
"How do they get here?"
"The one in the tower."
In the distance, in the horizon, it towers over this entire place, the midnight sun beating down on it.
We make it to the dock and Mitsuki gets out first. "Come, our journey nears its completion." She holds her hand up in front of me, like she's beckoning me to her side. "Quickly now, just through these trees."
"Easy boss, I'm coming."
I get out of the boat, which sways in the water, and get ready to fall into the web with her, because now, I'm not alone.
Before I step onto the dock, the ferryman grabs my hand. His skin is gray and cold, veins running all over his body. He has my same tattoo on his wrist.
"Don't follow the taker," he warns me in a frail, shaky, croak of a voice.
He leaves me there on the dock alone.