#the compiler

I stood alone at the edge of the Tartyx, the Rivers That Ring the World. I cannot see the other shore. How did I get here? The last thing I remembered was the bandit ambush on the merchant caravan. Did one of them kill me? Did I have the toll?

I checked under my tongue. I had the toll. I supposed that the only way forward is through death. My heart hurt thinking about my family. My wife, my daughters, my son. Did they survive? I was alone, but did they go before me? Will they arrive here after I cross? I was afraid.

There was a boat. There was a boat without Lord Athreos. Was he busy? Was I... Was I capable of sailing to the far shore? But there were also people now. Other dead. Six of them. One of them was wading in the water, resolute but frantic. One was just laying on the shore, calm and collected. The other four were standing at the riverside, listless and forlorn. I should help them.

I managed to ferry across the one who had been trying to wade into the Tartyx. She had been a soldier from Setessa. An outcast from their forces because she fought alone. It was in fighting alone that she met her end. She asked me if it was worth it to die alone. I told her that I didn’t know. She didn’t seem satisfied with that.

The next one I ferried across was the man who had been laying on the shore. He was a gambler, he said. Never dealt with the consequences of his actions until tonight, which landed him on the shore of Tartyx. He asked me if I ever felt above consequences myself. I said no. He just laughed and said that of course I did, hubris was the most common thing in our home.

The third was one of the forlorn, a caretaker from a Pharikan temple. She had always been lucky, she said, until she finally caught the horrid disease that she had been searching for a cure to. She asked me if Pharika punished her on purpose, as though I knew the will of the gods. I told her that she had done her job as best she could. That she was a different kind of hero. She seemed relieved by that.

The fourth and fifth ones were a pair of twins who took a while to agree on which of them went second with me, since the boat could only fit me and one other. The first twin was a philosopher of Meletis, estranged from the rest of the family. He asked me if pursuing one’s passions was worth being separated from all they had known. I told him that it depended on more than just the passion and the family, that it depended much on outside support because we are all affected by that. He seemed pleased, but it was hard to tell.

The second twin had also become estranged from the family. She had taken up residence in Setessa, much like the soldier, and chosen to devote her life to helping to raise the polis’s little bears, the children that run through the streets. How funny it was, she said, for her and her twin to die on the same day. She asked me if I ached for someone I left behind. I told her about my own family just before we finally made it to the far shore. She simply gave me a hug before she departed.

The final person I ferried over was a woman who stood and walked like a queen. She seemed to suck the air from the Underworld as she passed. Even still, she was dead just like the rest of us. She did not speak about who she was or where she was from. All she asked me was if I had been happy. I said yes.

And that was it. That had been all of them. I prepared to step out of the boat myself when something in me told me to wait. Out of the thick fog hanging over the Tartyx, Lord Athreos and his own boat appeared. I was worried that I had earned his ire. But instead... Instead he asked me to become a ferryman. Things had changed in the Underworld, he said. He needed to care for the entire place, and while he would always be a ferryman himself, he needed those who showed compassion to aid him. He wished for me to be one of them.

I accepted.

My uncle had been murdered. Not during the rampage that leveled our family’s holding, but afterwards. My father did not want to take his place, so it fell to me as the next eldest in the bloodline.

One of the first things I had to do after inheriting my uncle’s court was to clean it out. Our holdings had drifted too far from the church because of its distance from the mainland. It would have taken longer and given them a head start to cover their tracks if I hesitated for even a moment, so I was careful and worked tightly with the church to make it work.

The greatest part of the plan was a feast where the names of the guilty parties were spelled out using the dishes themselves. I’m still very proud of that one.

First was a baron who had tried to pursue my widowed mother and fashion himself as my stepfather. All it took was a small push and a few questions and he was telling the disguised clergyman everything.

Then there was a distant cousin in the family who wanted me out of the way so he could take my new position. The fool made an attempt to drown me before I retaliated. I left him alive so that the church could have him tried.

And the last one I needed to deal with was a random factor. She hadn’t been part of the initial assassination. But she didn’t take kindly to me straightening things out in our holdings. I dealt with her personally.

Now our holdings are doing well. I’m still working on fixing everything I can, but we are adapting well to the changing times.

I’ve done a lot of reminiscing about the past recently. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that I’ve got a place at a shrine and that I’m being honored now. But there’s just a certain...something about the life I left behind.

Not long after I formed, I wandered around sharing masks – the minor aspects that float around me – and incorporating others into my being. But until I was worshiped by Jinja [REDACTED] I didn’t wear a mask of my own. I’d just keep them floating around me and remove them to share with “patrons”. It was a pretty fun gig.

The thing that I enjoyed most was getting to talk to people. See, a lot of people thought – and still think – that kami are separated and stuck just in the Jukai Forest, just because that’s what sells the most in advertisements and looks good for the holograms and news reels. I can remember one in particular that still sticks with me even though it’s been a few hundred years.

They needed to grow. They had a job that they needed to do. An important job. One that they couldn’t just pass off to someone else. I offered them a mask that looked much like them, so they could practice without worry. They loved it.

They didn’t have money, but that was fine. They told me a story instead. A story about kami older than I was.

And it was a good trade. I took the lessons from that very story forward as well.

I think the story they told is worth its own entry, so I will leave this one here.

This bog of Moag, not given a name by its residents, is located in the southern part of one of the plane’s larger islands. There are a bunch of birds that live here that the dryads call “swamp hens” which is honestly a good name for them. There are also tons of cool trees and treefolk alike who are all growing quite well considering the recent invasion. And apparently there’s a humanoid swamp monster around here somewhere but I haven’t been able to find it yet.

The dryads here emerge from the moss and become the peat. I’ve been careful to not disturb the clumps. Shadow travel has served me well. Regardless, I spoke to many bog dryads at various stages of their end-of-life process.

Initially, there is always shock and denial. Each bog dryad believes itself to be built from sturdier things than the others, being able to put off becoming peat for as long as possible. They ignore it.

Then there’s the pain and guilt. They’re scared. They lash out at other bog dryads and the moss they originate from to distract themselves. (I know this part of the process well from my own mourning.) The oldest treefolk are used to this by now and don’t even bat an eye when a bog dryad takes a chunk of bark.

The third step is anger and bargaining. There are many gods of Moag, though they don’t have names like most gods do. They beg the gods of the bog to not turn them into peat. They ask what they’ve done to deserve this. (Part of me wonders if the so-called swamp monster is an avatar of the bog gods, which would explain why I haven’t seen it. I’m not part of this ecosystem.)

The fourth stage is another I know well, depression and isolation. They disappear under their patch of moss for a long while, toiling in it. There’s no fight left.

But after they do that, something changes. Not them literally, not yet, but something in their minds. They emerge from their moss with a new understanding of how the cycles go. The bog dryads I’ve spoken to at this stage seem almost giddy with whatever realizations they have come to.

They start reconstructing and working through things, apologizing to other bog dryads and the treefold and repairing what they can. They come together as a larger batch to discuss the next step. This lets other bog dryads get an idea of what’s coming as they work through the cycle themselves. This also features a lot of petting the swamp hens who are hanging out in the bog too.

Finally, they’re ready. They do not fear becoming peat, even though they as a dryad will cease to exist. They’re excited to see what comes next.

(...I wonder if my own mourning will get to that point.)

[From the management’s announcement section:]

Attention all residents: There will be maintenance done on the water pipes at midnight through all of next week. Please do not turn on any water faucets between the hours of midnight and three in the morning until the next newsletter is left in your mailbox.

[From the upcoming events section:]

Please note that Adio Allerbo is coming up during the next week. Residents are reminded that Halo is only free from the lights during this event if you don’t get caught, otherwise you must buy everyone a round. Appropriate music for the event will now be played in the lobby of the apartment building through the end of the holiday. Also note that any damage done to trees during this time of year will be heavily investigated afterwards.

[From the classified section:]

WANTED: Rare dirt. REWARD: Coffee grounds, equal volume. If interested, leave the sacrifice in the mail room box of [name redacted] with your apartment number attached.

Long before Kamigawa was gifted life and long before Iname caused the first death of his own Child, the two kami traveled across planets and between stars together.

The first planet was difficult even for the two kami to get to. Here they found the primordial knowledge kami’s first attempt at creating a world. It was muddy, watery, and covered in ruins that predated even Iname. The Child played among the stones and Iname pondered the possibilities of this place. But it was also home to regular earthquakes that made it dangerous and unstable. So the two kami continued on.

They came upon the second planet while drifting through space. This was a glacial planet where nothing moved. It had been the primordial light kami’s first attempt at creating a world. Everything was bright and still. The Child learned of snow and Iname thought about how it would be nice if there was more. But it was too cold and distant from its sun.

They happened upon the third planet as well. This planet had been created or possibly destroyed by the primordial chaos kami. Pieces of the land floated, barely spherical in overall shape, and restless clouds and lightning circled everything. The Child stayed close to Iname here. They quickly moved on to avoid the danger of lightning.

The fourth planet was another long and difficult journey to another system. It was a sandy place, a desert that was utterly deserted. Even still, it bore the marks of the knowledge kami’s attempts at creation, along with the chaos kami’s touch in wild sandstorms. The Child learned about burrowing in the sand and Iname decided that they wouldn’t stay long, as the heat was getting to them both.

It was also difficult to get to the fifth planet. It was full of holes and caverns, and upon delving into them, Iname and the Child found many colorful crystals that had been painstakingly crafted by the light kami to bring something lovely even to dark places. This inspired Iname in ways that even he did not yet realize.

Finally, they came to the planet that would become our home. Iname found it wanting, and so he created life, and the Child created flowers and became the first of the flower kami. The rest of this tale, unfortunately, is well-known, and is the reason why death is impure to us.

Greetings to [name redacted]’s diary. I am one of the kami of the shrine she works for. Today we are helping [name redacted] with tending to the shrine since the other priest is injured. The reason why I am writing in here is because I can tell that a lot is bothering her, and this is the easiest way to speak to her in a moment when she’s not as busy as she is now.

I know that she wants to create something tangible, to leave a clear mark. To have something that she can control when everything else is so unpredictable and difficult. She has often spoken to us about the fact that she lacks the creative drive of the rest of her family. So I will leave this encouragement for her:

You do not have to create something original. You do not have to create something good. It does not need to be presented. You just need to create. Go ahead and make something. You can always change it later.