Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #11 February 2015 | Page 65

Part One – The Lady of All Tears
I feel every single one of my years pierce me as I slowly
lower myself onto the rough wooden bench. The Ferryman stands at the end of the boat, dressed in a black
woollen cloak, the traditional white mask contrasting
sharply with the black tricorn. The long, beak-like nose
of the mask is like a dagger. He is silent, watchful; I see
his deep blue eyes evaluating me. I cough, and shiver.
They have afforded me no coat or hat; I have tied my
long grey hair back to avoid it whipping in the bitter
wind off the lake. I glance at the pier, the collection of
black shapes, like crows come to feast upon the dead,
watching me. Ensuring that I leave.
“You are to be my confessor?” I ask the Ferryman. He
neither nods nor shakes his head. I take his silence as
affirmation. The lake is too large to see the other side,
but I know what awaits me. I shiver again, and it is not
only from the cold. I shuffle to one end of the bench
and rub my hand across the lacquered wood and my
fingertips touch the water. I am transported back to
childhood with such a simple gesture. “I guess it started with my father,” I say as the Ferryman casts off and
poles us away from the dock. I watch the watchers as
the boat makes its stately way, powered by the practised strokes