The Mythmaker's Notebook

A bright moon hung low, casting unique light patterns on the shimmering waters of the Whispering River. The river was not merely a body of water but a passage, a conduit between the realm of the living and the whispers of the beyond. The ever-present mist was dense with the smell of wet earth, and a subtle, almost spiritual essence, like the faint echo of forgotten prayers.

Beneath the surface of the river, ethereal shapes swirled and twisted like living threads of silver. Their luminous forms moved with an eel-like grace, weaving sinuously through the currents, seemingly propelled by an unseen tide. Though they weren’t fish, their presence pulsed with an otherworldly energy; each flicker and ripple in the water hinted at something more—fragments of memories, flashes of laughter, grief, and joy, all given ghostly form, their iridescent scales shimmering with an ethereal light. The water shimmered faintly with their passage, the stories of countless lives weaving together in the dark depths.

Seren stood at the river’s edge. His simple boat, worn smooth by countless crossings, sat tethered to an ancient, twisted willow, its roots drinking from the river’s secrets; the rhythmic lapping of the water against the hull created a gentle, hypnotic sound. The paint, long faded and peeling, revealed the rich, dark grain of the wood beneath. It was the only piece of the world Seren had known for seventy years, a silent witness to his solitude and his service. Seren was just as much a part of the river as the water itself.

Tonight, the river whispered more urgently than usual, its murmurs like the rustle of leaves or the soft echoes of distant conversations. Seren’s eyes, once vibrant, now held the weight of his years, their blue faded to a melancholic gray mirroring the water. His hair, once dark, was now a silver that blended with the mist that rose from the river, giving him an almost spectral appearance in the dim light.

He suspected his next journey would be his last. He felt an icy dread to his core, each aching joint mirroring the chilling tales of lost souls he carried. The river had changed him, much as time had changed it; its waters now seemed to carry not just the souls of the departed but also the memories of his own life, playing like whispers on the wind.

As he adjusted the lantern at the bow, its light flickered, casting shadows that danced on the water like spirits eager for the journey. The air was cool, carrying the promise of change, and Seren felt the chill seep into his old bones. He looked up at the sky, where stars seemed to watch with an ageless curiosity. Somewhere in the distance, children’s laughter broke through the quiet, a sound so out of place yet so poignant in this realm of the departed. He picked up the lantern.

“My old friend,” he whispered to the boat. “Are you ready for another journey?”

The silence that answered him was both comforting and isolating. Seren allowed himself a small, sad smile as he contemplated the countless souls he had ferried across the Whispering River. Each crossing left its indelible mark on Seren, a bittersweet reminder of the lives he had shared. With every soul he guided across the Whispering River, he carried away not just their presence but fragments of their stories, their laughter, their tears, and their silent hopes. These memories were both a burden and a treasure, each one a testament to the moments of connection, the fleeting conversations, and the profound farewells. They were his only companions in this life of solitude.

Seren looked to his right and saw four young humans emerging from the water. His heart sank. He had ferried children before, but never a group of them. The sight of these young souls, so vulnerable and lost, struck a chord within Seren that he hadn’t felt in ages. He remembered his own fear, the sense of being lost, the yearning for comfort that had been his last human emotion as he lost his life.

They crawled up the bank, their bodies heaving with the effort, gasping for air as if they had been underwater for an eternity.

Leo, the oldest child at fifteen, scrambled onto the bank, his breath catching in his throat, the cold water still clinging to his skin. “I thought… I thought we were much further from the shore.”

Isley, clutching her ragged doll even in the water, followed him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She looked around, her confusion clear. “Where… where are we?” Isley was Leo’s oldest sister. She was twelve.

Jasper’s curls stuck to his brow, but his eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee as he darted around, a bright, infectious smile spreading. “I didn’t expect to find land so soon.” Jasper, the youngest boy, was ten.

Lily, the youngest, maybe six, crawled up last, her chubby hands clutching at the grass. Her wide eyes reflected the moon’s light as she looked around, clearly not understanding but sensing the strangeness of the place.

They all stood, dripping wet, looking around with a mix of relief and confusion, as they realized they were not where they had expected to be. The riverbank was quiet, the only sound the drip of water from their clothes and the soft whispers of the river.

Seren’s gaze followed them, a heavy ache settling in his chest, his eyes mirroring a profound sorrow. He had seen this before, souls arriving in this way, not understanding their journey until it was upon them. He clenched his fists, a bitter resentment fueling the last embers of his dwindling resolve.

With a breath tasting of ancient magic, Seren waved at the children. They had noticed him a moment before and were walking toward him. Lily, her short legs moving quickly, approached him first.

Her voice quavered as she spoke, “Mister, where are we? I want to go home.”

Seren knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with the child. “I’m sorry, little one. You can’t go home. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”

Leo looked startled. “But our parents! They’ll be worried sick. We have to get back! They must still be in the water. The boat flipped over just a minute ago.”

The ferryman’s chest tightened, memories of his own loss threatening to surface. He pushed them down, focusing on the task at hand. “Your parents know you’re safe,” he lied gently. “They want you to come with me.”

“Are you sure?” Jasper’s lip was trembling. “It’s dark and scary here,” he surveyed the surrounding area.

Seren held up the lantern, its warm glow bathing their skin. “That’s what this light is for. It will help us see where we’re going.”

Isley stood still, not saying anything. Fear and uncertainty masked her face. She clung to her doll.

“Well now, who’s this?” Seren asked, pointing to the doll. The girl twisted at the hip, turning her body as if to hide the doll from Seren’s view.

“She’s mine.” The girl responded with a harsh, distrusting tone. Seren let out a pleasant laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to meet all five of you. Come aboard the boat and we will be on our way.” He gestured to the boat, now longer than it was before to accommodate more than the usual amount of souls.

The boat rocked gently as the four children stepped aboard, their forms still shimmering with the essence of life, not yet tinged with the pallor of death. Seren’s eyes, now accustomed to the twilight of the afterlife, took in each child. Leo, a boy with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of his years, looked around with a mix of fear and fascination. Isley clutched her ragged doll, her gaze fixed on the far shore as if she could see through the veil of the living world. The third child, Jasper, a boy with curly hair and an impish grin, seemed to find wonder in everything, even here at the edge of life. The youngest held onto the boat’s side with small hands, her wide eyes reflecting the moon’s light.

Once all the children were in the boat, Seren climbed into the back of the boat. He pushed off from the shore, the boat gliding across the surface. The water beneath them was alive with whispers, the tales of those who had passed before, now guiding these new souls. As they moved away from the shore, he finally allowed the first memory to wash over him, unbidden and sharp.

The memory came to Seren like a whisper from the river itself, a vision so vivid it could have been yesterday. He was a child again, his hand small and warm in his mother’s grasp, both of them slipping into the Whispering River’s icy embrace. The water was dark, a contrast to the bright sky above, and it swallowed them with the hunger of a beast that had waited centuries for this moment.

 Panic widened his mother’s eyes as the current dragged them into the river’s depths; her voice, a mixture of fear and love, called out, “Hold on, Seren! Hold on!” The current was relentless, pulling them further into its icy heart. Seren remembered the sensation of water filling his lungs, the burning sensation, and the terror of knowing he was drowning.

Then, silence. A profound underwater quiet.

What seemed like an eternity later, his head broke the surface of the water. He was mere feet from the shoreline. Seren swam a few strokes until his knees touched the ground. He crawled onto the shore, then rolled over onto his back. He was panting, his body trying to replenish the oxygen it had been missing since he went underwater.

He looked around and saw a small boat floating in the water a few yards offshore. There was a figure sitting in the boat, facing him and rowing closer. As it drew near, the thick mist that had created the silhouette cleared away and he recognized his mother’s face. Overwhelmed by a surge of shock and joy, he leaped to his feet, his heart racing.

“Mom!” He ran up to her as she exited the boat, the embrace flooding him with warmth. “What happened? How did you get a boat?” She put her finger up to his lips to cease the barrage of questions.

Ice seemed to coat her skin as the words, “I don’t have time to answer a lot of questions, baby,” escaped her lips, a tremor shaking her voice. “I begged and pleaded with those on the other side to give you another chance. What happened was my fault and you deserve to live.”

Seren lifted an eyebrow, not sure what she was saying. His mother took a deep breath and continued.

“We fell into the river, Seren, and we both died.” The matter-of-fact way she delivered this news made it hard not to believe her.

“I’m confused. I don’t feel dead?” His voice cracked.

“I’m so sorry, Seren. Thirteen years old is too young to lose your life. I made an agreement with them. They allowed you to continue to live, but you must serve a role for them for the rest of your natural life. You must ferry the souls who perish in the waters of the Earth to the other side. The good and the bad.”

She knelt before him, her eyes glistening with tears, her voice breaking as she spoke. “You will be their guide, Seren, leading them to peace. And when your time here is done, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Seren felt a cold dread rush over him. “But… I won’t see you again? Not until…”

His mother’s hands, now trembling, cupped his face, her touch both grounding and fragile. “Not until your journey ends, my sweet boy. But know this, every soul you guide, you’ll be doing it with me by your side, in spirit.”

The reality of their situation sank in. Tears welled up in Seren’s eyes, matching the streams already tracing paths down his mother’s cheeks.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he sobbed, the child in him resurfacing amidst the shock.

“You won’t be,” she whispered, pulling him into an embrace that felt like the last of many. “I’ll watch over you. When you’re old and your task is complete, I’ll be here to welcome you home.”

Her hollow words were a suffocating blanket, trapping him in the despair of their goodbye. They held each other, crying openly, their tears mingling with the river’s mist, a poignant moment of love and farewell.

“I love you, Seren.” Her whisper, barely audible over the flow of the river, carried the weight of unspoken grief.

“I love you too,” he managed through his tears, feeling the finality of the moment as she stepped back into the boat, the mist beginning to envelop her once more.

As she pushed off from the shore, easing back into the fog from which she’d emerged, Seren watched through his tears. Each stroke of her oar carried her further away, leaving him with a heart heavy with duty and the memory of their bittersweet farewell.

The mist thickened, pulling Seren back to the present. He shook his head, dispelling the memory. The children, sensing his sudden reverie, looked at him with curiosity. The eldest boy, perhaps sensing the shift in mood, spoke up, his voice steady despite the situation. “Where are we going?” he asked, his words cutting through the sounds of the river.

“We are going to the other side,” Seren replied, drawing the oar through the water to propel them forward. “You will find peace there.”

“Will mommy be there?” Isley asked, her voice trembling.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but no. Not for a while, at least.” He tried to keep his voice steady. The years had etched a grim understanding onto his face; a single tremor in his voice could unravel the fragile peace he maintained. “She will know you are safe, though.”

The boy with the perpetual smirk, Jasper, pointed at the river’s surface, where the small silvery threads were visible just below. “What’s that? Fish?”

“Memories and experiences of those who’ve crossed before. They light our path now, ensuring safe passage.” The explanation passed Jasper’s verbal inquisition.

Lily, peeking over the side of the boat, giggled at the sight. Her laughter was a pure, unburdened sound that made the river seem less dark. As they floated further from the living world, the children asked more questions, each one pulling at Seren’s heartstrings.

“What’s it like over there?”

“Will it hurt?”

“Can we come back?”

With each question, Seren felt he was more than just a ferryman; he was a guardian, a storyteller, and the last connection to the life they knew before. He was honest with them.

The journey continued, the boat moving with a purpose now, the children’s questions and laughter filling the silence that had long been Seren’s only companion. Each interaction, each innocent inquiry, was like a balm to his soul, reminding him of all the lives he had touched, all the stories he had been part of. As they neared the bridge that would lead them to the other side, Seren felt not just the weight of his years, but also the lightness of knowing he had fulfilled his purpose.

The boat glided to the heart of the Whispering River, where the waters seemed to pause, as if reflecting on their timeless voyage. The moon, an old friend to this journey, laid down a silver road across the water, beckoning them deeper into the mystery of what lay ahead. Seren’s hands, weathered by years and labor, held the oar with a firm grip, his calm betraying the storm of emotions within. The children, now finding some comfort, revealed their genuine spirits, their innocence and wonder brightening the dark, heavy atmosphere like the first light of dawn.

Leo leaned over the boat’s edge, watching the river with a mix of awe and contemplation. “Do you ever get tired of this?” he asked, his gaze never leaving the water, as if the water was talking to him, telling him the stories it carried.

Seren gave a small, sad smile. “Sometimes,” he admitted, the words heavy. “I’ve been doing this for 70 years. But each soul I guide gives me a new story, and sometimes those stories give me a new reason to keep going.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully, perhaps understanding more than his young mind should. “I wish I had more stories to tell,” he murmured, his voice tinged with regret for a life cut short.

Isley had begun to hum a soft tune, her melody mingling with the river’s whispers. She paused, looking up at Seren with wide, bright eyes. “Do you remember every song from everyone you’ve ferried?”

Seren chuckled. He barely recognized his own laugh. He heard it so seldom. “I remember the ones that touched my heart. Like yours,” he said, gesturing to her doll. “What’s her name?”

“Ellie,” Isley replied, holding up the doll. “She’s my best friend. I think she’ll like it here, too.”

“You’ll both be safe,” Seren assured her.

The boy with the curly hair and eternal grin, named Jasper, was now making shapes with his hands, casting shadows on the boat’s interior. “Look, a rabbit!” he laughed, showing off his shadow puppet. His laughter was contagious, and even Seren felt a smile tug at his lips.

“You’re good at that!” Seren’s eyes sparkled with unrestrained delight, his voice ringing with genuine warmth as he watched Jasper’s radiant happiness.

“I always wanted to be a magician,” Jasper admitted, his eyes sparkling with the dreams of the life he didn’t get to live. “Maybe I can still be one where we are going.”

Seren nodded, “That’s very possible. Magic doesn’t end with life. It transforms, just like we do.”

Lily had been quiet up to this point, but now her attention was grabbed by the dance of light on the water. Suddenly, she pointed at the river, her voice small but clear. “Look, fishies!” In the true form of a young child, she had missed the conversation about these earlier.

Where the child pointed, the river was sparking, its playful surface mirroring the sheer delight dancing in her eyes. Seren adjusted the boat’s course, allowing them to drift closer to the spectacle. “They’re welcoming you,” he said, his voice soft, hoping to give the child some comfort in this transition

As the journey continued, the children’s questions and stories reminded Seren of many old stories. He told them of the time he had ferried a poet whose verses still reverberated in his mind, and of the artist whose paintings were so beautiful and unique. Each tale represented something learned, a piece of life’s puzzle, shared to ease the children’s journey.

With each story he told, Seren felt himself getting weaker. The river could also sense his fatigue and seemed to murmur with concern. His hands trembled as he steadied the boat, the effort to keep it on course becoming apparent. The children fell into a respectful silence, their earlier cheer replaced by a quiet understanding.

Leo, observing Seren’s struggle, moved closer. “Can we help?”

Seren shook his head. “This is my job to finish,” he said with a weak smile. The offer touched him and he felt some of his strength return.

Isley offered a suggestion, determination ringing in her voice. “We can sing for you! Like my momma used to do.” She began singing a lullaby, her voice clear and sweet. Jasper joined in with a background hum and even Lily belted out some small, off-key notes. The song was simple but filled the boat with a warmth that had nothing to do with the physical world.

As they sang, Seren felt an unexpected surge of energy, not from his own reserves, but from the purity of their song, their joy, their unblemished spirits. The river seemed to respond, its waters calming. Seren suddenly realized his journey was not just about guiding these souls, but also about being guided by them in return. Their innocence, their stories, and their very presence had rekindled something within him.

They were nearing the end of the journey.

The bridge that connected the living world to the beyond was not made of stone or wood, but of light and memory. As Seren guided the boat to the bridge’s edge, the children looked up in awe at the structure, its ethereal glow casting hues of gold and silver across their faces.

The effort to reach this point had drained Seren. He could feel the muscles in his body protesting with each movement. His breaths were shallow, his vision blurred in and out because of exhaustion. Yet, the sight of the bridge seemed to renew a spark within him, one final flicker of purpose.

One by one, the children stepped onto the bridge, their feet tentative against the shimmering surface. The starlight rippled under their weight but held firm, glowing brighter to offer reassurance. Seren followed the children closely, holding up his lantern to light the way.

Leo, ever the brave one, was the first to step onto the bridge, his hand outstretched to help Isley. “Come on,” he said, his voice steadier than it had any right to be. Isley, clutching Ellie tightly, grabbed his hand. She stepped cautiously, but her eyes shone bright with the wonder of this new adventure. Jasper, with his characteristic smile, bounded onto the bridge, carrying Lily on his shoulders. She giggled when her big brother landed the jump.

Seren watched them with a mixture of pride and sorrow in his heart. This was what he had been doing for seventy years, guiding souls to this moment of transition. Guiding them to this bridge where life and death entwined together. He took a deep breath, mustering the strength for the last leg of their journey.

The river below was unnaturally quiet. Seren kept his gaze forward and his grip tight on the lantern. He knew better than to look too closely at the water. The Whispering River, especially at night, had a way of reflecting more than just stars—memories, regrets, and even the faces of those who had gone before.

“Where does it lead?” Jasper asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“To peace,” Seren replied.

The boy frowned. “What if we don’t want peace? What if we want to go back?”

Seren stopped walking and turned to face Jasper. The boy’s translucent form shimmered faintly, his youthful face twisted in confusion and fear.

“I wish I could send you back,” Seren said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “But the river doesn’t work that way. None of us can go back.” He pointed to the river now behind them. “The boat is gone.”

As they walked, the bridge seemed to respond to their every step. The light under their feet pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. The children, in their innocence, began to share more. Leo spoke of dreams he never got to chase, sharing dreams that reflected maturity beyond his years. “I wanted to be a hero,” he confessed, his eyes on the horizon.

Isley shared her secret wish to see the stars up close, believing now that she might just be one of the stars. “Ellie always loved the night sky,” she said, looking up as if she could already see it.

Jasper, with all his boundless energy, talked about the magic he wanted to perform, his hands moving in the air as if he could conjure wonders even here. “I’ll make this bridge my stage,” he declared, his laughter offering a reprieve from the solemnity in the air.

Lily, in her childlike simplicity, simply pointed at the light. Everything she was seeing completely mesmerized her.

As Seren listened to them, his strength continued to ebb. His body badly wanted to quit, but each child’s story seemed to lend him energy. He reciprocated their stories, sharing stories of love that had transcended death, and of lives that were celebrated rather than mourned.

As they approached the halfway point of the bridge, the air turned colder and a breeze came out of nowhere. Seren was the first to feel it. The mist around them thickened, and the children huddled around Seren.

“What’s happening?” One of them whispered.

Seren knew what this was. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the mist. Not all souls crossed over willingly. Some souls lingered, tethered to the world by anger or despair.

A spectral entity, cloaked in ragged, dark robes that billowed around it like smoke, emerged from the mist. It moved with a ghastly glide rather than steps, with no face visible beneath the hood. It passed in front of the children, pausing for a second to acknowledge their presence. After a moment, it went on its way.

“It’s a lost soul. It doesn’t know where to go, so it wanders between the borders of the river.” Seren continued to follow the figure with his eyes until it was out of sight.

“Can’t you help it cross over?” Isley asked.

“Yes, I could. But he is unwilling to cross over. Not everyone goes as calmly as you children have today. Most still cross over, but in my seventy years doing this, Thomas was the only one who did not. His life on Earth was tragic, and he is terrified of what awaits him on the other side. Rather than find out, he has elected to stay in limbo for eternity. He used to resemble a man, but over time, the erosion of this plane has turned him into something new entirely. He can’t harm you.”

As they neared the end of the bridge, the light intensified, casting a warm, golden glow that enveloped their surroundings. The air hummed with a faint electrical buzz, harmonizing with the distant sounds of rushing water below. A subtle scent of pine mingled with the crisp evening air, heightening their anticipation.

Upon reaching the bridge’s end, they saw the light part like curtains, revealing what could only be described as peace. There were no specific shapes or forms, just an overwhelming sense of tranquility and acceptance. The children, sensing this, turned to Seren, their gratitude palpable.

Isley led them into a group hug. They stood for a long moment in the embrace, nobody wanting to be the first to move. Seren moved first.

“You guys better get going,” a tear rolled down his cheek. He looked down and saw Lily jumping up and down, her arms raised in the universal symbol asking to be picked up. He bent down and picked her up. “Hey little one.” She kissed him on the cheek and giggled.

“Now you can be happy, too.” The singular tear that fell from his eye a moment ago was now followed by many. Seren laughed and hugged her tight before putting her back down.

The kids walked forward, stepping through the open area of light. As they did so, their forms began to change, becoming part of the luminescence. Their voices and laughter merged with the eternal symphony of the afterlife.

Once they had passed through the veil, the light faded. A translucent boundary now took its place. Seren sat down at the bridge’s end, setting the lantern down on the ground next to him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This trip had taken a heavy toll on him.

A moment later he was being shaken awake.

“Seren? Wake up, dear.” He startled, taking in a deep breath and looking around with wide eyes.

“It’s okay, calm.” The soft voice was familiar. He remembered it from a day a long, long time ago. She sat down next to him, putting her arm around him. His mother.

Seren did not know he could cry this much. “I’ve missed you.”

His mother reached up and brushed the tears away with her thumb.

“You did well, my baby boy. You guided so many across the river and delivered them to peace. I am so proud of you.” She smiled at him with that love only a mother can have for her child.

He nodded his gratitude, finally feeling like he accomplished something.

“I’m ready to go with you.”

She stood and offered her hand to help him up. She now supported him as he had supported so many over the last seven decades. As they turned to face the translucent boundary, the curtains of light returned. This time, they were for him.

As Seren and his mother walked forward together, he could feel the weight of the years lifting from his shoulders. His last thoughts were of gratitude: for the children who had given him the strength to make his own trip across the bridge, for his mother who had never truly left him, and for the river that had been both his burden and his salvation.

The Whispering River continued to flow, carrying the stories of Seren and countless others. Its whispers now included the tales of a ferryman who had finally found peace.