The traveller stood on the shore of a vast, dark river. The water flowed north, slowly, almost too viscous to move. The golden moon, high above, was the only light - the river was only barely illuminated, as if it thirsted for moonlight and resented reflection. Stymied, the traveller espied a hooded figure carrying an oar.
"Hail, stranger!" said the traveller, their voice strange in their own throat. It had been too long since the traveller had spoken to anyone. "Have you a boat? I would cross this river, but I fear I cannot swim, and as far as I have walked I have seen neither bridge nor ford."
The hooded figure turned, and the traveller saw that the figure had a face painted in gold, that shone even in the pale moonlight. "Come," said the figure, with kindness in their voice. "Let us go to the wharf."
At this, the traveller was perplexed. Never had the traveller seen a structure of any kind along this dark shore, never so much as a lamp-post. But following the figure, the traveller soon saw a humble wharf, barely a few dozen planks out into the sludgy water, with a boat lashed to a pole.
The traveller saw that the boat was large enough for two, but very wide, and sharply curved upward at both ends. The figure walked out onto the creaking dock, and set the oar down on the boat by its twin. The gold-faced stranger turned to the traveller:
"The crossing will be long, but the waters here are calm. Once we set out you will be under my protection - neither rain nor wind nor wave will force you into the river, unless you choose to dive in yourself. Know that we will not turn back until we reach the far shore, and if you pass beyond, you will not come back."
The traveller sensed no deception in the gold-faced figure, and was heartened. "Sculler, I do not intend to return to this beach. My path is east."
The hooded sculler reached out a hand as the traveller approached the boat. "There is just the matter of the fare."
At this, the traveller started as a memory surfaced, and from a pocket the traveller drew two black coins, pressing them into the hooded figure's hand. With practiced ease, the sculler examined the coins and smiled as they vanished into their robes. "Come aboard, then. We have a long journey ahead."
The sculler bade the traveller sit, and began rowing.
The river at times sounded like the waters of the traveller's home, at other times like thick sludge, and sometimes like clinking piles of glass or metal. Always the golden moon shone brightly above, never moving from its apex. Always the river drank the light, making it seem to the traveller that they were crossing a black void.
It was a moment. A month. An hour. An eternity. A second. The traveller spoke, voice strange again - "Sculler, how long have you plied these waters?"
The gold-faced sculler looked thoughtful. "Not longer than I can remember. But for an age."
"Were you always a sculler?"
The gold-faced figure's mouth drew a thin line, deep in thought. "No, not always. Once, long ago, I traveled - not just the near shore, but across my homeland. I lived and loved and lost as many do. And as all do, I came one day to the near shore, and sought a crossing, though I had no boat."
"How did you cross these waters without a boat? Surely you could not swim."
At the idea, the gold-faced figure laughed - a strange sound, like wind chimes. "No, I did not swim. These waters would not bear a swimmer - they would deposit any so bold on the near shore in an instant. I walked across the shore until I happened across a sculler, wearing a robe of white and gold, and an oar of pure sapphire that reflected the moonlight."
"I asked the sculler to take me across, but I did not have the fare. The golden sculler took me to their wharf - a marvelous structure of marble - and made a compact with me. If I would ferry two other travellers across the river to the far shore, my debt would be paid."
The traveller smiled kindly. "Am I your first or your second fare, sculler?"
The sculler retuned the smile. "You will be my seventy-seventh fare."
The traveller was agape, shocked at this turn. "But you still make the journey! Did the golden sculler cheat you?"
The sculler shook their head. "Not at all. Calm yourself and I shall make all plain."
"The journey was long, and to make that same journey twice was an age. But the time came when I docked at the near shore, and I showed the golden sculler the four coins I had gathered. Two the sculler took, and led me to their craft, itself as magnificent a boat as the wharf was beautiful to look upon. Like the wharf, the boat was of gold, and lined with sapphire as his oars."
"For an age the golden sculler rowed, though I knew the waters by then - when the river would be calm, when it would clink with complaint, how it would bend and churn - until at last we came to the far shore. I could not see the golden sculler's face, but as I set foot on shore I felt they were waiting for something."
"The far shore was wooded, thick with pine. Without the river to drink the light, the golden moon was almost as bright as dawn. I walked through the woods, knowing the path without knowing the path, until I came to a great gate. The gate was of gold and marble, and a fierce light shone from behind it. The light spoke:
Pass ye here, and ye shall not return. Thy travelling shall end, thy burdens lifted, thy paradise granted, for ever."
The traveller here shook with fear. The sculler's words, formerly as calm as the river, were suddenly infused with terrible force as the light's words came forth.
"I feared then as you do now. But it was not the light I feared, nor the darkening of the wood, nor the thought of the wide, dark river. The light did not forbid me from returning, nor did it insist I would be unable to return as if by capture - I would simply not return. The light's promise was in a grammar that shook me to my core. No longer would I go from place to place, no more would I seek nor find, no more would I hunger nor thirst, no more would I desire, for beyond that golden gate my every need or want would be forever resolved."
Here the river began to soften from its glassy texture, as if in sympathy. "I gathered my tattered courage, and said that I could not yet pass beyond. To my shock, the fierce light softened - a light no less bright but infinitely kinder than the sun.
Go ye, traveller, to the shore. The sculler will fill thy need for purpose. Strive until you tire of striving, then pass through the gate. It shall be open to you for ever."
The traveller looked at the sculler's humble boat, so distant from the golden sculler's own. "Did the golden sculler wait for you?"
"Just so. We rowed together to the grand wharf, the journey shortened by our cooperation. The golden sculler took the other two coins I had earned, and bade me keep this boat, and the oars besides. There were many such boats, and it seemed that there were still others gone, taken perhaps by other travellers that fear the journey's ending."
The traveller startled as the boat beached itself - the far shore at last, sandy beach giving way to a pine forest, redolence thick in the air even from the shore. In the distance, at the horizon, a golden light shone to mirror the glow of the moon.
The two stepped off the boat, and the sculler sat on a rock at the edge of the shore. "Go, traveller. Seek the horizon. I will rest awhile here."
The traveller began to walk into the forest.
