The Blunt Reaper

"Why aren’t the Abominations... you know, eating them?"

Mara kept her voice low as the boat pressed through the field of floating bodies. They covered the water in every direction, packed so closely in places that the ferryman could barely fit his pole between them. Each careful push disturbed the mass. Shoulders knocked against ribs, pale hands slid over swollen faces, and waterlogged clothing rubbed together with a whisper that sounded unpleasantly close to breathing.

The ferryman’s pole entered the water between two bodies and pushed one gently aside. The corpse rolled onto its back, revealing a face so swollen and colorless that little humanity remained in it. Its eyes were open, though whatever color they once possessed had faded to the same cloudy white as the rest of its flesh. The mouth hung slack, filled with black water that did not spill even when the head tilted.

"Why would they?" Rook said. "They’re empty. They have nothing left."

"Abominations eat souls and memories." she said

"Exactly. These have neither."

Rook watched another corpse scrape along the side of the boat. Its fingers caught briefly against the timber. The nails dragged over the wet wood, producing a faint scratching sound before the current pulled the hand away.

"It’s still a mystery how they didn’t simply disappear into nothing," he continued. "Most souls lose enough of themselves and eventually pass on. These didn’t. They remained after everything that made them a person was gone. Abominations don’t even consider them food."

Mara looked across the bodies surrounding them. "So they just stay here?"

"Until something changes."

"What changes?"

Rook rested one arm against the coffin standing behind him. "If anyone knew that, this place would probably be less unpleasant."

The boat shifted as several bodies gathered against one side. The ferryman silently corrected their course, pushing through the tangled limbs until the current drew them apart again.

Mara looked down at the nearest face. It belonged to a woman, or had once. Long strands of dark hair floated around her skull, winding between other bodies like weed. A smaller hand rested across her throat, though the arm attached to it belonged to someone drifting several feet away.

The Empty did not sink. They did not decay beyond the damage already done to them. Their limbs rose and fell with the slow movement of the water, occasionally brushing against one another as if seeking comfort they no longer possessed the awareness to desire.

Calling them corpses no longer felt right. Corpses had belonged to people. Even bones carried some proof that a life had once occupied them.

These were what remained after the life, the death and every memory between had been scraped away.

Mara drew her coat closer around herself. "Do they feel anything?"

"No."

"You sound certain."

"If there were anything left to feel, the Abominations would smell it."

That did little to comfort her.

The boat continued forward, forcing a narrow passage through the dead. Bodies turned slowly in their wake before settling into new positions. For a long while, Mara could still hear them striking the hull behind her. Soft knocks followed the boat through the fog, irregular and quiet, as though something were tapping from beneath the floorboards.

Gradually, they began to thin.

Hundreds became dozens. The bodies no longer covered the entire surface, appearing instead as isolated pale shapes suspended in the mist. One floated upright with only the upper half of its face above the water. Another drifted facedown, its arms spread like the remnants of an abandoned embrace.

Then even those disappeared.

The final corpse passed beside them without touching the boat. Its head turned with the current, empty eyes seeming to follow them until the fog swallowed it.

After that, the water opened.

The absence of the bodies should have been a relief, yet the silence they left behind felt worse. Nothing knocked against the hull. Nothing disturbed the surface except the ferryman’s pole and the shallow wake spreading behind them. The fog deadened both sounds until the boat seemed to be moving through a place too large and empty to possess an end.

The old man stopped pushing.

The boat continued drifting for several feet before the dark water slowed it.

The ferryman stood with both hands wrapped around the pole, staring ahead. His earlier amusement had completely disappeared. Even the relaxed bend in his back seemed to straighten as he studied the water beyond the lantern’s reach.

"All right," he said quietly. "We’re at the Red Tide. Now is when we quiet down."

Rook moved immediately.

He opened the coffin with unusual care, keeping the chains from scraping against its wooden surface. One of the smaller compartments opened beneath his fingers. He pulled out a cloth pouch, loosened the cord around its mouth and scattered a line of grey powder along both sides of the boat.

Some settled over the wet planks. The rest drifted across the edges and touched the water, where it spread into thin, oily patches. The dark surface recoiled from the powder in small circles before smoothing over it again.

"I already placed repelling powder," the ferryman whispered.

"Old man, you’ve been here for a long time. It could have gotten damp or become less effective." Rook scattered another handful near the bow. "This is still fresh."

"I know how to maintain my boat."

"You also use that pole to move corpses."

"It washes off."

"That somehow makes it worse."

The ferryman gave him a displeased look but did not raise his voice. "If you say so. Not that it’ll help against the big ones."

Rook tied the pouch shut and returned it to the coffin. "Let’s just hope we don’t meet them."

Mara looked between them. The ease with which both men accepted that possibility made it considerably less reassuring. "What big ones?"

Rook secured the compartment but kept one hand near its latch. "Take a guess."

"More Abominations, I presume."

"Now you started getting the hang of it."