by Jena Rey
Darian opened his mouth, then closed it as though he was thinking hard about what he was going to say. Finally, he shrugged and spoke. “I never said there was a problem. I just don’t like seeing people without shoes when I can help them get what they need.” He jerked his head in the direction of the mountain. “It can’t be comfortable to walk that mountain barefoot. Some shoes will make whatever travel you have in mind easier, at least in the long run.” He didn’t seem to consider that her only travel was back to the cave she’d come from. He turned toward the main doors. “I’m going to try to shut the door behind us. I’d rather have some forewarning if someone tries to come in.”
Ephema didn’t think he was going to be able to do that, given how much effort it had taken to get the doors open as much as they had, but she didn’t protest. If he wanted to try, she saw no reason to stop him, and maybe he was right to be concerned. The people were generally good people, but those who agreed with the Mayor wouldn’t like anything that had happened today. There might be some who would think if Darian was gone their troubles would go with him.
As he turned away, she stepped into the chapel and began down the long aisle between the pews. The damage was not nearly as extensive in here, though the edges of the carpet were still frayed and a couple of the benches tilted in ways that would make sitting on them dangerous or impossible. Her feet brushed softly along the remains of the dark blue carpet, and she smiled to herself over the thought that she wear shoes. She hadn’t needed shoes since she was a child. Her mother had seen to that, using her healing skills to turn the skin on the bottom of Ephema’s feet leathery and tough. She felt the heartbeat of the world through the soles of her feet, and shoes just got in the way. But it was an interesting thought that someone might care about something so inconsequential as her feet.
Her gaze rose from the carpets to the dais, set in front of the low pit where the Eternal Flame of the temple had once burned. It didn’t surprise her that the fire was out, but what else she saw did. A skeleton clad in the remains of Cerenus’s robes knelt on a prayer rug spread in front of the hearth.
Ephema recognized the designs embroidered on his faded tunic and came to a complete stop. Her father had once told her that death was different for the faithful followers of Osephetin, but he didn’t say in what way. Her heart pounded as she stepped backward, trying not to draw attention to herself, but not daring to look away in case the body sprang to life. “Darian…” It was the first time she’d called him by name, and what she meant to be a shout came out as a whisper. She took another step back and banged into a low pew which collapsed under the impact and sent her tumbling to the ground with a shriek.
Darian was there in a few quick steps, running into the chapel quickly enough that he made the door bang against the opposite wall. His hand was on his mace as he entered, his gaze quickly moving about the room. When nothing was an immediate threat, he visibly relaxed and knelt down beside her. “Are you all right?”
Ephema pushed part of the bench out of her way, looking between Darian and the front of the room where nothing stirred. “I…I’m fine, but there’s a…a…dead man. By the flame pit. I don’t feel magic from him, but he’s there.” Her puzzlement came out in her voice which was too shrill and too sharp. She forced herself to take a breath and to seek calm. “I don’t understand why he’s not attacking, or why he’s not dust.”
“Remember where you are.” Darian offered his hand, leaning back when she ignored it and scrambled to her feet. He carefully approached the skeleton, circling it once before he knelt down beside it and reverently inspected the hooded corpse, careful not to disturb it. “He’s not attacking, because he’s not undead. He is a true corpse, in the ways of the old, before the dead walked the earth. He is in the natural state of repose, in the way that Lord Osephetin meant for all of us to be, in the way all things should be once they pass.”
He stood, again careful not to so much as brush the corpse with his hands or clothing. “Disciples and Knights of Osephetin cannot be brought back as undead if we pass in proper servitude to the Dark One. Our Faith and His power protect us from the Lich’s call, even after we have passed from this life. Such is Osephetin’s reach over his faithful.” He paused and shrugged before adding. “Though most of us are given rites and put to the Eternal Flame before reaching this state. It’s understandable for you to be concerned.”
“Oh.” Ephema considered his explanation, slowly approaching the corpse again. There were things her parents had taught her, but too many places where there were gaps. Now that she knew it wouldn’t attack her, she felt the quiet pull of sorrow instead of heart-pounding fear. “This would be Bishop Cerenus, wouldn’t it?” At his nod of confirmation, she sighed. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen him. I thought after my parents left, he might come and visit, but he never did. When I came to see him, the temple was closed, and I thought he had joined them.” She knelt by the edge of the funerary pyre, looking at the long cold ashes and missing the sharp glance Darian gave her. “So, what do you do with this kind of death?”
“The same we do with all others. We give them to the fire and spread the ashes. The ashes of some of our greatest leaders are kept in the High Temple at Hawthan. Once the highest among us received burials into the earth, because they have the same purity as a child, but such burials are rarely seen, especially these days. I have seen three headstones for the first Knights of our Order, but none other.”
Ephema’s brow wrinkled as she considered what he told her. “My Mother said fire took souls to Liana’s heaven, and returning their ashes to the world was a gift of love.”
Darian’s jaw tightened at the mention of the Goddess’s name, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he walked to the nearest hallway that led out of the chapel. “I’m going to see what else is here and try to find the aviary. Will you be all right?”
She nodded, feeling very little desire to join him in exploring. It all felt like too many reminders of what she had lost, and she was content to let him scout.
“If anything changes, call for me and I will come running.” He offered a little smile with the promise and disappeared down the hallway.
Ephema touched the bruising at her neck, which still stung, and shook her head. It was hard to continue to be afraid of Darian when he offered her nothing but deference and kindness. He had hurt her. He could hurt her still, but she didn’t think he would or wanted to now. He reminded her of the few Knights she’d known as a child who’d been kind to her as her Father’s daughter and who had always treated her mother with respect and reverence. It was, perhaps, best to let her first impressions of Darian go and begin again.
The temples of Osephetin were built around one of three designs, each taking some aspect from the High Temple in Hawthan. It took two turns down the hallway for Darian to figure out which version this temple was, and he proceeded with greater confidence. He walked past doors he knew would lead to chambers for the disciples and the Knight in Residence and kept going as the hallway curved around the building. A small door at the end opened onto what he was looking for, a narrow stairway leading to the top of the steeple tower.
He climbed the stairs carefully, though there was less damage here than he had seen in the exterior rooms. The only light came from slit windows along the wall of the staircase, but it was bright enough that he didn’t turn back. The door at the stop of the stairs was partially open and, as Darian pushed it, he felt the soft touch of the wind coming in through an open window.
The aviary was only big enough to hold the fifteen or so wire bird cages that dangled from the ceiling on slowly rusting chains. Three large windows holding precious, mottled glass cast light into the room, though one window’s jagged edges warranted caution. A storm had thrown a large tree branch through it creating a dangerous pile of glass and wood.
As Darian approached the cages, he peered inside the lowest-hanging ones. As expected, there were no birds, only small piles of bone and dust. Darian walked between the cage
s, finally choosing one of medium size. He’d only invoked the prayer for Lord Osephetin’s messengers once before. Then it had been the smallest creature, only truly capable of flitting from one High Temple tower to the next, and the invocation had been achieved with the assistance of a Priest who often communed with the Dark One. Darian wasn’t sure where the nearest Knights might be; so this time he needed something bigger and capable of going farther.
He crossed the room and set the cage down on a tall table meant for just this purpose. The wind through the broken window toyed with his hair and brought the scent of roasting meat into the room, making his stomach growl. He’d been eating trail rations and gatherings for over a month, and the new scent made him homesick for his sister’s tavern and a meal held around a table instead of a fire pit. He took a deep breath and shoved the feelings down, knowing he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Darian opened the door to the bird cage, picking up the largest of the bones and setting it in front of him on the table. He closed his eyes, remembering the instructions he’d received only a few months ago. Lord Osephetin was the God of Death and thus the remains of all creatures fell under his rule. It was blasphemy to reanimate the dead such as the Lich did, binding the soul of man to remain when his time had ended. But when Osephetin’s followers were in need, they could call upon the Dark Lord’s will to fill the remains of his messengers: owls, ravens, and bats.
There was no guarantee Osephetin would grant the request, his will was not for his servants to command, and this prayer worked best for priests. But Darian had no other way to find his Brethern, and he needed help. He had to try.
Darian swallowed and whispered the summoning incantation he’d been taught. As he spoke, he tasted each word of the ritual language, like little sparks of lightning in his mouth, jumping from his tongue to his teeth until his head hummed with divine power. It got harder and harder to speak, but he remembered that happening before and pushed forward, nearly spitting each syllable until the end. With the final word of the incantation, a blue haze slipped from his lips, falling down to the counter and swirling around the skull before sinking into it.
Darian sagged against the table, his eyes barely slits as he stared at the bone.
Nothing happened.
Why wasn’t it working? His need was great. He believed. He was certain he’d said the right things. What would he do if Osephetin didn’t answer him?
Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the bone. It jerked away from him, blue energy jumping from it in a shower of sparks. The skull raised a few inches into the air and began to spin. From within the cage other bones and ash scuttled about and shot out of their confinement to the table. The bones clattered and sang as they bumped into each other and fused, fitting together without muscle or sinew. In an instant a skeletal raven with long skeletal bones for feathers landed on the table, cocking its head and staring at him.
Relief flooded Darian’s body, and he bowed his head. “Thank you.”
He touched the bone raven on the top of the head, and it leaned into his fingers as though it was an overeager cat instead of a bird made of magic. Darian smiled. Now, it just needed a mission and a message.
Darian held tight in his mind the crossed hammers and skull that were the heraldry of the Knights of Osephetin. “Find them. Bring them here.” He murmured. The skeletal raven pecked his fingers and then leapt into the air. The bird skillfully passed through the broken window without damage and soared off into the daylight, vanishing quickly from sight.
All Darian could do now was wait.
Darian returned to the chapel with his arms full of fabric and books, and Ephema rose, curious to see what he’d found and grateful to once again for living company. She wasn’t afraid of the skeleton now, but it was sad and the chapel felt lonely.
He looked up as she approached and smiled faintly. “I found the aviary and sent the message. We should know soon if it finds anyone.”
She found it strange, but not upsetting that he included her in his ‘we.’ “That is good, then. What else did you discover?”
He nodded to the pile he carried. “I found some robes and other sundries, a few pairs of shoes that might be in your size, and this.” He lifted a journal from the top of the pile, offering it to her. “I think it is Cerenus’s journal.”
Ephema took the book, running her fingers along the cracked spine. It wasn’t nearly as worn as some of the other items, but it bore the oil marks of fingerprints and much usage. She opened it, squinting in the dim light to make out the words. She knew the basics of reading, but it didn’t come easily to her, especially given the priest’s thin, angular hand. “He didn’t feel good. He says…” She held up the book, trying to find a ray of light to help her see. “I can’t read it. These are not words I know, and it is too dark.”
Darin nodded. “I didn’t find any candles or oil lamps up there. Well, one lamp, but it was under a large rock and was very flat” He offered her the clothing and the shoes. “Here, see if these are helpful, then we can look for other supplies. It’s not quite midday yet, but we might as well find out all the little secrets we can with what light we have. I have flint in my gear, and we’ll need to find something to burn tonight, or it’s going to be really cold in here.”
She took the bundle and set everything together near the fire pit, keeping it far away from the corpse so she didn’t disturb it. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping near the dead body, but maybe space could be made near the door, or one of the other rooms. “The benches are easy to break.” She’d already proven that, and she knew he was right about the night being cold. It wasn’t yet the white winter season, but they were on the brink of the first snows. “Can we not burn those? If the temple is restored, they will have to be replaced anyway.”
Darian looked between her and the benches and ran both hands through his hair, rubbing some of the dust out. He chuckled. “Indeed, we can. You’re right. When,” he emphasized the word, “this temple is restored they will be replaced. There will be no need for the old ones.” He turned back toward the hall he’d come from. “I’ll start looking down there while you get dressed, all right?”
“Yes.” She watched him go and then sorted through the piles. The robes were brown and stiff with creases where they’d been folded. She decided it was easier to add a layer rather than giving up her lighter clothing. She had wraps more appropriate to the season back at her cave, but she hadn’t brought them, and she wasn’t certain when she would return there. She’d come to town to see what would happen to Darian and expected to go right back, but now she wasn’t sure. Something inside of her had woken, and it was restless.
Ephema didn’t bother with the shoes, but wriggled into the robes, surprised at how much warmer they were. The brown fabric wasn’t creative; however, it was solidly constructed. She glanced after where Darian had gone and decided to focus her efforts on the broken bench. She gathered all the pieces that she could handle easily and set them into the fire pit as far from the body of Cerenus as possible. She was considering the large end of the bench which hadn’t broken when Darian returned, bringing with him a bundle of candles, a few other pieces of fabric, and a couple of fraying wristlets bearing pieces of yellowed and cracked bone.
He set his pile aside and immediately grabbed the other end of the bench, helping her to carry it forward where he disassembled it with a few quick strikes of his mace. They stacked the wood in companionable silence. Once they had a good stack of burnables, they shared a light lunch from the roots she’d sent with him before deciding which of their finds were useful, and what would be burned. Darian was insistent that none of the wristlets be burned, and Ephema didn’t argue. She wasn’t sure it really mattered, given the wristlets had been left behind and they had no way of figuring out what family they belonged to, but if Darian wanted to keep them that was up to him.
The remainder of the day passed swiftly, and an evening meal finished the food, neither of them feeling like going through
the effort to get through the front door and visit the tavern. More food was a problem for tomorrow, and Ephema knew many of the people would deal with her no matter what the Mayor said. This was especially true because Darian had capital coin, not just the skins or herbs Ephema usually offered in trade. Coin spent no matter who you got it from. As Darian began his evening prayers and the crescent moon rose into the night sky, Ephema stretched out with a bundle of cloth beneath her head, and a fire warming her back, tumbling into an uncertain sleep.
Darian woke first, the sounds of distant shouting bringing him to full awareness. He reached for the mace that lay at his side, resting his hand on the wooden shaft while he listened. He decided that the commotion wasn’t at the doors but beyond them. The thought brought some comfort. A glance at Ephema told him she was still asleep, but from her expression her dreams were troubled. He checked the fire and added fuel to the pit before he crouched at her side.
He brushed her shoulder carefully, but even with that light of a touch her eyes flew open. There was a moment of panic in the green depths of her eyes before realization hit, and she rose up on her elbows, scooting away. “Where…who…” She stopped and shook her head. “No. I remember. Darian. The temple. Is it morning?”
He sat back to give her more space and nodded. “Late morning from what I can guess. We slept longer than I thought we would.” He wasn’t sorry for the extra rest, though his muscles ached from sleeping on the stone floor. “There’s something going on outside. To be safe, I think we should go and see what’s happening.” He hadn’t expected help to arrive for days, if not weeks. It would be a blessing if the messenger had found someone so close.
She nodded, pushing herself to her feet. She still wore the long, brown, belted robe he’d found which he found gratifying. He hadn’t been sure she would accept any help from him. It was cleaner and thicker than the clothing she’d worn before, though it smelled of dust and age. Her feet were still bare, and very pale against the stone floor, which astounded him. He couldn’t imagine how that could be comfortable, but at the moment there were more pressing issues than a wild girl’s footwear.
