Absolution - by harukami
He'd based his cult in Lea Monde because the city had called to him, the catacombs had called to him, and he had learned to listen to calls over time.
Sometimes he would vanish into the catacombs for days, putting Hardin on edge, though the other cultists put enough faith in his godlike powers -- you had to laugh -- that he would return.
He was drawn to the dead.
Most of the unliving creatures of Lea Monde could no longer speak. Zombies rotted, ghosts could not be heard by human ears.
It did not matter. They would speak to him anyways.
He walked through Lea Monde's catacombs, ghosts, zombies, mummies whispering their stories:
/I am Ida Toulien. I was trapped with my daughter and suffocated during the earthquake. I have been alone so long. Please, touch me and give me-- /
/I am James Fallman, of the Crimson Blades. I was killed in the search for the Mullenkamp base. Please, touch me and grant--/
/I...touch me.../
/Touch me.../
/Touch.../
The first time his connection to the dead had appeared was at his cousin Atreus's funeral.
***
/Sydney./
Blue eyes tracked along the walls, hair trailing on his cheekbones as he tried to find the source of the call.
/Sydney./
In the direction of the priest, who was droning, "Blessed St. Iocus who sustainth life..."
/Sydney./
His sweaty hand slipped from Father's. He stayed in place while the crowd milled around, heading out into the church proper for another segment of the ceremony. They did not see Sydney. Father would be back soon, to retrieve him. He was alone with the coffin.
/Sydney./
He progressed along the church aisle, noble's shoes clicking on the stone. Standing over the coffin, he gazed down through lowered eyelashes, then knelt and pushed the lid off.
It hit the floor and echoed.
Atreus gazed up at Sydney with slightly yellowed eyes, the first sign that rot was beginning.
/Sydney. My beloved cousin./
Sydney tilted his head, face clam, unsurprised, curious.
Lips stretched, cracked, and didn't bleed as the corpse smiled the same hard, knowing, demanding smile that he had in life. /Touch me,/ Atreus commanded as he had before. /And grant me absolution./
Atreus moved far too fast, hands snatching at Sydney's arms, half-dragging the child into the coffin. Sydney opened his mouth for an experimental scream and found it covered by cracked, bloodless lips.
He could taste death. He could taste death. He could taste death. He could taste death.
A scream and Sydney tore himself away to see an altarboy there, eyes wide.
Sydney glanced down at his cousin's hand on his left arm, then back at the altarboy, who was biting back on another scream, crossing himself. Irritation. What a stupid boy.
Father entered a moment later, took in the situation, and pinned the altarboy with his slightly runny gaze. "You will never tell anyone," Father said, and the altarboy, white-lipped, nodded and fled.
It would have been inconvenient to commit murder. Too obvious.
Father turned his gaze back to Sydney, and Sydney shrank back against the corpse.
"Sydney," Father said. "Let go of the past."
The corspe collapsed, arm still dangling outside of the coffin and Sydney flinched. "I didn't mean to," he said.
***
~Hush, let it go.~
The scent of incense drifted around him as she embraced him from behind. Delicate woman-nails traced the design on his back and Sydney blinked awake.
He released the zombie who had taken the opportunity to get close, the force of the gesture gouging slashes in the zombie's unbleeding skin. Hand reached out to touch him and he brushed them off.
Wordless, he turned his back on the pleading whispers and left the catacombs, taste of death strong in his mouth.
You had to laugh, really.
He'd based his cult in Lea Monde because the city had called to him, the catacombs had called to him, and he had learned to listen to calls over time.
Sometimes he would vanish into the catacombs for days, putting Hardin on edge, though the other cultists put enough faith in his godlike powers -- you had to laugh -- that he would return.
He was drawn to the dead.
Most of the unliving creatures of Lea Monde could no longer speak. Zombies rotted, ghosts could not be heard by human ears.
It did not matter. They would speak to him anyways.
He walked through Lea Monde's catacombs, ghosts, zombies, mummies whispering their stories:
/I am Ida Toulien. I was trapped with my daughter and suffocated during the earthquake. I have been alone so long. Please, touch me and give me-- /
/I am James Fallman, of the Crimson Blades. I was killed in the search for the Mullenkamp base. Please, touch me and grant--/
/I...touch me.../
/Touch me.../
/Touch.../
The first time his connection to the dead had appeared was at his cousin Atreus's funeral.
***
/Sydney./
Blue eyes tracked along the walls, hair trailing on his cheekbones as he tried to find the source of the call.
/Sydney./
In the direction of the priest, who was droning, "Blessed St. Iocus who sustainth life..."
/Sydney./
His sweaty hand slipped from Father's. He stayed in place while the crowd milled around, heading out into the church proper for another segment of the ceremony. They did not see Sydney. Father would be back soon, to retrieve him. He was alone with the coffin.
/Sydney./
He progressed along the church aisle, noble's shoes clicking on the stone. Standing over the coffin, he gazed down through lowered eyelashes, then knelt and pushed the lid off.
It hit the floor and echoed.
Atreus gazed up at Sydney with slightly yellowed eyes, the first sign that rot was beginning.
/Sydney. My beloved cousin./
Sydney tilted his head, face clam, unsurprised, curious.
Lips stretched, cracked, and didn't bleed as the corpse smiled the same hard, knowing, demanding smile that he had in life. /Touch me,/ Atreus commanded as he had before. /And grant me absolution./
Atreus moved far too fast, hands snatching at Sydney's arms, half-dragging the child into the coffin. Sydney opened his mouth for an experimental scream and found it covered by cracked, bloodless lips.
He could taste death. He could taste death. He could taste death. He could taste death.
A scream and Sydney tore himself away to see an altarboy there, eyes wide.
Sydney glanced down at his cousin's hand on his left arm, then back at the altarboy, who was biting back on another scream, crossing himself. Irritation. What a stupid boy.
Father entered a moment later, took in the situation, and pinned the altarboy with his slightly runny gaze. "You will never tell anyone," Father said, and the altarboy, white-lipped, nodded and fled.
It would have been inconvenient to commit murder. Too obvious.
Father turned his gaze back to Sydney, and Sydney shrank back against the corpse.
"Sydney," Father said. "Let go of the past."
The corspe collapsed, arm still dangling outside of the coffin and Sydney flinched. "I didn't mean to," he said.
***
~Hush, let it go.~
The scent of incense drifted around him as she embraced him from behind. Delicate woman-nails traced the design on his back and Sydney blinked awake.
He released the zombie who had taken the opportunity to get close, the force of the gesture gouging slashes in the zombie's unbleeding skin. Hand reached out to touch him and he brushed them off.
Wordless, he turned his back on the pleading whispers and left the catacombs, taste of death strong in his mouth.
You had to laugh, really.