My name is Saghani, which means Raven in our tongue. Some say with a name like that, I’ve been cursed since the day I was born. Perhaps they are right.

At eighteen years of age, I was already a widow, gathering fish from the nets alongside the other members of the widows’ colony, knee-deep in the frigid water of the Nilak River. Tuktu and I had been married less than a year before the bloodthirsty Kaskae descended on our peaceful tribe, the Ugalik, in a vicious territorial dispute.

Among our male tribe members of fighting age, there had been no survivors.

The ranks of the widows’ colony had swollen like the river after the first spring thaw, except we were still in winter, our spirits frozen with grief, our knuckles split open and raw.

I wrestled a fish from the folds of the net and held the flopping, wriggling mess in my hands. Despite the overcast skies, its scales shimmered silver and blue in the twilight.

Its fish lips gaped in time with the flare of the translucent gills. The round, dark eye held a vestige of panic, the metallic glint of it rich with a nameless urge. Its body appeared slightly bloated in the middle, yet with no outward sign of fin rot or other illness.

Perhaps it was a message from the goddess, in response to my sacrifice. I had burnt my personal allotment of smoked caribou for the winter in hopes of receiving an answer from her. If she truly had heard me, I wanted to guard myself against prying eyes.

I glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Then I jammed my finger down its throat.

My fingertips seized on a solid round object.

I pulled out a black coin, etched with a series of crude markings roughly resembling a wave, an eye, and a fish.

It was a sign. Of exactly what, I wasn’t certain.

The creature in my hand sucked in its last waterless breath, then went still.

I threw the fish in the basket at my side and tucked the coin safely in a fold of my skirt, my fingers trembling from excitement as much as nerves. I would wait until after dinner, and then approach our shaman. She would know exactly what it meant.

***

The shaman’s tent smelled like dried herbs and woodsmoke. With her permission, I slipped past the entrance and sat cross-legged before her, a small fire between us. The reflection of the flames danced across her face, illuminating the portrait of wrinkles that lined her cheeks and nestled beneath her pebble gray eyes.

“I made an offering to the goddess of the underworld,” I said, referring to Sedna. “Yesterday, before dawn.”

The shaman arched her brow. Traditionally, offerings were performed weekly by all members of the widow’s colony, in a group ceremony.

“Your heart is broken over Tuktu.”

Smoke filled my nostrils and threatened to choke me. I didn’t lower my gaze from the shaman’s. “Life will never be the same. I only wish less of it was before me. I am the youngest of the widows.”

The shaman tilted her head at me, eyes narrowed. “You wish for Sedna to make you an old woman?”

“I wish to see Tuktu…the less time I have to wait, the better.”

The shaman sighed through her nostrils. “And I know you. You will not risk a dishonorable death.”

I would not take my own life, no. If I did, I would never wind up in the same afterlife as Tuktu, and that was what I desired most. For our spirits to join in Adlivun, to live together in spirit as we had been meant to live together in the flesh.

She considered me sternly, then studied the black coin in her palm. “You have Sedna’s attention. These are her symbols.”

“But what does it mean?”

The shaman rolled the coin in her gnarled fingers and grunted. “If Sedna didn’t grant your request, then she was displeased with your initial offering. You must make a more valuable sacrifice.”

She reached around the fire and placed the coin in my palm.

I left her tent, returned to my own, and waited out the darkest hours in agonized indecision. At midnight, I felt beneath my bedroll and pulled out the small, wrapped packet I kept buried there.

An ivory hair comb, one that had belonged to Tuktu’s mother, who had been a wise woman herself when she was alive. It was said that the goddess of the underworld went into a trance at the pampering of a comb’s touch through her vine-like tresses. What better way to extract a wish from her than to allow her to indulge herself so, and especially with a wise woman’s comb?

I could endure the loss of the ivory comb, if it meant I would join Tuktu sooner. Once I was an old woman with thin, brittle hair, I would have no need of it, or so I tried to comfort myself, to ease the guilt of sacrificing my one tangible connection to my dead husband.

Silently, I crept out of my tent and headed toward the river. The reflection of the stars glimmered across the surface of the water.

I stretched out my hand, prepared to drop the comb in offering to the goddess to make me an old woman, to shorten my days so as to be that much closer to reuniting with Tuktu.

Quietly, as stealthy as a night heron, a shadow glided toward me on the water: a rough-hewn barge consisting of a series of logs lashed together, with a vulture perched on one end, and a wizened old man on a basket seat at the back. With a long-handled oar, he propelled the barge through the water. A glowing lantern at his feet lit up his beard. A broad-brimmed hat obscured his face.

He steered the barge toward the shore. It bumped gently against the river’s edge directly in front of me.

“Who are you?” I said, stiffening my spine in an effort to combat my nervousness. No sane traveler would want to navigate the river at this time of night.

“I am Tornasuk,” he said in a rasping voice like the shiver of wind through stems of grass. “You are Saghani.”

His words sent a chill along the length of my spine. Tornasuk was a god of the underworld. Here he was, sitting in a barge that ran between this world and the realm of Adlivun. And he knew my name.

I held the ivory comb between my fingers. My knees wobbled and I sank to the ground, mystified, dumbstruck.

“Get up, child.” He sounded upset, and mildly disappointed, as if my display were a disgrace.

I shook my head, my lips refusing to form words, and held out the ivory comb. As if he would read the intention off my heart, as if he would understand the transaction I wanted to make with Sedna.

“Psssh,” he waved his hand at my sacrifice. “Keep your trinket. Show me the coin.”

I struggled to rise. “I prayed to the goddess to be made an old woman,” I said, studying my hands, which did not appear any older. “What does it mean that you are here instead?”

The old man sat up straight. Lantern light suffused his face, what little could be seen, all craggy lines and sharp, piercing eyes. “I am not the judge of these things. I am only the transport. You were given a coin that will usher you to the underworld, at Sedna’s request. I can only presume she wishes to speak with you.”

I held out the coin, which he took, tucking it away beneath the folds of his robes. He eyeballed the ivory comb. “Keep that safe,” he said. “Here now, watch your step.”

The ferry pitched underneath me as I climbed aboard. I caught my balance, then lowered myself, cross-legged, to the center, the ivory comb clutched tight within my grasp.

Tornasuk dipped the oar down one side of the barge, then the other. The black water of the river slid past us.

The lantern light skimmed the river’s surface as we sped along. The cold night air bit my cheeks. Strands of my hair loosened from their binding and lashed against my skin.

I ignored the discomfort of the cold and gripped the sides of the ferry, my thoughts swirling. Sedna had indeed accepted my initial sacrifice and sent me the coin to pay the ferryman. Would he have still arrived if I hadn’t been prepared to offer her the ivory comb?

It could only be a good sign that she was willing to speak with me, but at what cost? Would the ivory comb be enough? I had nothing else to offer.

At the front of the vessel, the vulture perched, silent and proud. The talons of one foot dug into the wooden post, the other he held balled up beneath his feathers.

I would get no answers out of him, any more than I would out of Tornasuk.

The ferryman guided the barge down the river’s many twists and turns until we arrived at a portion unfamiliar to me. Steep rock cliffs rose to either side, topped by a dense forest of pines.

The river narrowed to an impassable channel between the cliffs. Tornasuk steered the barge sideways toward a dark rift in the rock wall. A cave opening yawned before us, guarded by enormous twin statues carved into the stone on either side of the entrance: one a seal, the other a walrus.

The barge glided through the opening, and deeper darkness enshrouded us like a damp, heavy blanket. The lantern light flickered in the gloom, a tiny yellow glow in the overwhelming black of the cave.

Our way split into two directions: the river continued on to the left, and a shallow appeared on the right. It was there that Tornasuk stopped the barge and told me to disembark.

“Where do I go from here?” I eyed the lantern with longing.

“May the goddess guide you and keep you.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned the barge in the direction we had come, leaving me behind in utter darkness.

Cold fear seeped through my skin, but I refused to allow it to paralyze me. I had come this far to the threshold between worlds because of one sacrifice I’d made to Sedna. I squeezed the ivory comb to remind myself that I was prepared to make a second all the far dearer to me in order to shorten my days on this earth and join Tuktu sooner.

I simply had to find the goddess and ask her.

The steady ping of water droplets hitting the cave floor drilled into my thoughts. I tucked the comb safely away and reached out in the darkness until my fingers met with the rock wall. If I kept the wall to my left at all times, I wouldn’t get lost in a labyrinth of decisions. Instinct told me this was best. The river had veered off to the left. The realm of the goddess would be subterranean, in the watery depths below ground.

I picked my way forward, one cautious step at a time, cringing when I nearly twisted my ankle on the treacherous footing.

I had the impression of spiraling downward, though mostly, I struggled to stay upright and steady my anxious breathing. At one point, faint from exhaustion, I fell. Pain lanced through my knees and up my spine. I gritted my teeth against it and forced myself up, grappling to regain my hold on the slippery rock wall.

When I glanced up, a light burned in the distance.

I squinted against the darkness, unsure if the faint glow I detected was real or a desperate illusion conjured by my muddled brain.

The yellow orange glimmer resembled the forked branches of a tree’s limbs: twin, jagged sconces floating in the darkness side by side. I pressed my thumbs against my eyes and refocused.

The glow was still present and hesitating, as if waiting to see if I would follow it.

The air in the cave had grown warmer, more humid. A fine sweat dampened the hairs against my neck. I had no reason to believe that the image before me was one I could trust, or even that I would be wise to follow where it led, but the pull on my heart was unmistakable.

If the light wasn’t there to guide me, I would perish in my attempt to find Sedna. I could never hope to retrace my steps to where the ferryman had brought me if I turned around.

I had nothing to lose, so I followed.

The glowing branches stayed an equal distance ahead of me, pausing when I stumbled, moving forward when I regained my footing.

Eventually, the rocky path evened out and my feet crunched against fine gravel. A damp smell filled the air, and the surrounding darkness took on a deeper vastness. It became easier to breathe despite the warmth. The plinks of falling droplets sounded hollow, echoing in the space around me as if the water now fell from a great height.

I had reached an underground reservoir, a dark pool of water deep in the heart of the cave.

A short distance away, the glowing branches had stopped, suspended in midair and reflected, shimmering, on the surface of the water.

They hesitated only a moment before drifting toward the water, then submerging and disappearing beneath it.

“Wait!” I cried.

If I didn’t follow, I would lose the only light left to me in that dark place. I plunged in head first, delighted to discover the water warm and inviting against my skin. The forked branches dove ever deeper, and I thrust out my arms and legs in powerful strokes, propelling myself after them.

We descended, deeper and deeper, until the surrounding water took on a glow similar to the light I had come to recognize as my guide through the cave. A burning yellow orange, the color of fire, with all the radiant warmth of the summer sun.

For a moment, I was blinded.

Despite my disorientation, I kept swimming. When my vision cleared, I was surrounded on all sides by the richly marbled walls of a massive throne room. Spiraling columns inlaid with shells and peach-colored pearls met overhead in a domed ceiling.

The slick bodies of seals and other deep-water fish swarmed past me, but I swam with them, astonished at my newfound capacity to breathe underwater. We were headed toward an imposing bone-colored throne at the farthest end of the cavern.

The goddess sat within, her green, fish-like tail trailing down the dais, glimmering with mother-of-pearl iridescence. The thick, vine-like tendrils of her hair flowed past her shoulders in tangled, tumultuous waves. Her regal jade eyes peered out at me with studied curiosity. The pressed line of her mouth was grim, her hold on her whalebone scepter firm and unwavering.

Alone before the goddess of the underworld, I attempted an underwater bow.

“That’s quite sufficient, Saghani,” Sedna said in a voice as strong as thunder, but as gentle as rain. “It was I who invited you to Adlivun. As one of the living, you are eager to visit the realm of the dead. Why is that?”

She knew my desire. The goddess was not deaf to the prayer that had accompanied my first sacrifice. If she wished to hear it from my lips, so be it.

But I was not stupid. I would appease her first.

I pulled out the ivory comb and showed it to her. “I wish only to please you, the provider of all good things.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Her grip on the scepter tightened. The fins of her tail flicked, raising angry, swirling currents around her.

“Will you allow me to show you the good I can provide you, who has always been good to us?” I waved the comb in the water before her.

The goddess sank against her throne, jade eyes flashing. She considered me a long moment before setting aside her scepter and beckoning me forward.

At first, I only set the comb against the tangled vines, as much to gauge the effect on her as because I was terrified to touch the hair of a goddess. Sedna closed her eyes and relaxed her grip on the carved bone arms of the throne.

I ran the comb through her hair vines, gently untangling each gnarled knot and smoothing the tresses with my fingers. Sedna drifted, trance-like, just above the seat of the throne.

Now was the time to present my request.

“The good in me has honored the good in you, great goddess. I do not ask to know the reason why Tuktu was stolen from me so soon. I ask only that you grant me another goodness in exchange for this ivory comb. Make me an old woman. It is my deepest desire. Nothing would please me more.”

The goddess froze, her fingers rigid on the handles of the throne. When her eyes snapped open, they flashed bright red. The vines of her freshly combed hair formed a swarming corona around her dreadful face. She grasped her whalebone scepter and pointed it at me.

“Wretched girl, you deceived me!” she bellowed.

I cowered before her, eyes lowered, unsure I could manage another bow amid the agitated currents buffeting me.

“You claim to come in worship, but you put forth this selfish request.”

The scepter did not waver. Neither did the fury in Sedna’s gaze.

I clutched the comb in my palm, the teeth digging painfully into my flesh. I relished the small reminder that I was still alive. Caught up in my effort to reach Sedna, it had not occurred to me that I could die in the attempt before reaching Tuktu.

Would it be so bad to perish in Adlivun if death was what the goddess would deliver through her scepter? Tuktu was here. I would join him.

It’s the reason I’d come, wasn’t it?

My heart fluttered at the realization.

“Give me the comb,” Sedna demanded.

“Am I to join Tuktu?” I said, my fist clenched around the object of her desire.

“I am the queen of the underworld,” she seethed, “but that does not make me the deliverer of death. Life is a gift. You should not spend the rest of it despising yours.” Her face softened, but the scepter’s pull did not.

By its power, she forced the ivory comb from my hand. It slid from my fingers, leaving behind a deep gash in the tender flesh of my palm. I cried out in anguish.

Sedna’s fingers closed around the comb, and she raised the scepter, swirling the top of it in the water before her. At her command, a pod of seals appeared at the far end of the throne room, their tails beating in unison as they swam closer, then fanned out to surround me.

I had no choice but to join them. They formed a sleek, muscular retinue around me, effectively trapping me in their midst. Together we swam out of the throne room and into dark waters for what felt like an eternity.

We rose to the surface, and I emerged, coughing and spluttering, on the bank of the Nilak River, heaving in lungfuls of cold, dry air.

Alone on the pebbles, I sat where I had first seen Tornasuk pull up in his barge.

I flipped my hand one way, then the other, examining it in the pale blue predawn light. My palm ached: the jagged cut along its surface oozed blood. A small cry escaped my lips.

Not only was I the same age but I had also lost the ivory comb. My last connection to Tuktu, gone. I was no closer to seeing him than I had been the evening before.

I forced myself to my feet with a sob. Soaked and shivering, my glance skimmed the opposite shore.

The same glowing orange lights I had beheld in the cave shimmered in the air, just on the other side of the Nilak. Jagged, like forked lightning. A pair of them. I hesitated, afraid to move for fear that what I was seeing would disappear, that it would be no more than a mirage in the morning mist rising off the surface of the river.

The longer I stared, the more the image began to make sense. I gazed upon the lighted antlers and the rest of the creature gradually came into focus: the swift strength of his hooves, the wise gleam in his dark eyes, the tender flicker of his nostrils as he tested the air. He stared back at me.

There, in the dawning light, I realized exactly what had guided me through the cave to Adlivun.

Or who, I should say.

In our language, Tuktu means Deer.

Some say there is only one way through Adlivun, that to do so one must pass from this life into the next.

Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps I really had traded one goodness for another.

From this moment forward, my body grew ever more keenly aware of the goddess’ gift. The spirit of Tuktu was with me, and he would remain–my guide, my protector–until the day I died.