Chapter 5: The Ferry
The sorcerer ventured into the depths of the underworld with the genie shadowing him. Under its breath, the genie kept repeating, "I hate dead things. I hate dead things. I hate dead things."
All around them were recently departed souls. Only the genie's presence kept the dull white-eyed phantoms from pressing in too close.
Jafar did his best to walk straight and tall. He was an accomplished sorcerer and evil schemer. He had lived longer and done more than most men could ever dream of. He had nothing to fear.
Such were his thoughts until they made it to the River Styx.
Countless souls milled about lost and without purpose.
The sorcerer cut through the rabble. Approaching the ferryman, he demanded, "Give us passage across the river."
The ferryman stared at Jafar with darkness for eyes. It was barely more than a skeleton. Charcoal skin stretched over its sharp bones. The air rattled as it spoke. "It'll cost you."
The sorcerer pulled out a small bag. "I have the money." Then he took out a silver drachma and handed it to the ferryman.
The ferryman bit down on the Grecian coin and nodded. "That'll do, μαγισσούλα."
Jafar stepped onto the boat and the shivering genie followed.
The ferryman pushed off the shore and away they went.
Jafar looked out at his dreary surroundings. The sounds of moaning and cries of the lost made it impossible to feel comfortable. The very air of this place was seeped in an ever-growing despair.
Jafar gripped the boat hard.
"We can still turn back," the genie whispered hopefully.
"No."
"There's no guarantee that he'll trade with you, you know."
The sorcerer remained silent.