Karthus struggles with his feelings about his sister's death. A melancholy chapter.

Karthus: Winter Brings Cold and Memories

*huff* *huff* *huff*

My breath swirls through the cold air before me.

Winter; cold, dark, dreary. It's the Kindred's favorite hunting time and they keep us at the temple busy. I do my part to earn my keep here, even though the work is cold and unpleasant. My lantern is placed on a hook hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the dim chamber I have been tasked with keeping clean.

"The receiving tomb. Peaceful as ever."

Frost has made the ground too hard for shovels and though our order has mages who can move the earth with their magic, they are gone. They have all been conscripted by the Empire to report to the front and use their magic to dig defenses and mass graves for the fallen. Now the bodies pile up here as well as the battlefield.

*huff* *huff* *huff*

"Aaagh,"

I groan and peel the gloves from my fingers. Even with them on, my fingers feel like icicles. I blow hot air onto them and rub them vigorously until I feel warmth returning. Then I pull the gloves back on, even though I think it's actually making them feel colder. It's still better than doing my next task bare handed.

From bier to bier I go, lifting the shrouds and checking the bodies of the deceased. I do my best to disturb them as little as possible but I want to be thorough in my duties. Nothing I do will be worse than what the rats may do if they take a particular interest in a body.

"No bite marks on this one either. Good."

I move to lower the sheet back over the dead man's face but pause as I look between my gloves and his still face.

"He feels no cold. He feels no pain at all."

The feeling of envy passes through me for a moment. Of everything in this tomb, I am the only one feeling winter's chill. It stings.

"Finish quickly," I remind myself, "then you can go back in."

In the back of the tomb is where I have set one of my traps. As it turns out, even though I am no longer living in the slums, my skills as a rat catcher are still needed. A rat, ugly and fat, is dead in the snare. Reflexively, I can feel my mouth begin to water at the sight of it.

"No," I shake my head, "I don't need to eat these anymore! I'm beyond it!"

It's been almost a year since I was invited into the temple but the habits I learned living in the slums haven't completely left me.

"I'll get some real food when I'm finished. Something warm."

The thought of food is an excellent motivator and I finish checking, cleaning, and resetting my traps speedily. By the time I have finished, I have two more rats in hand. With my free hand, I collect my lantern and give the tomb a final look over.

"Quiet. Still. Just as it should be."

"Sleep well," I say, "and dream of spring. When it arrives, we will return you to the earth."

I step back out into the winter night, close the tomb door behind me, and lock it shut.

Snow crunches beneath my steps, the only sound in the graveyard. Distantly, I can hear other sounds from the temple; a group engaged in evening prayer, snow sliding off the side of a roof, someone wailing, but here it is silent.

"Good. I'd rather be alone for this."

Light from the three-quarter moon shines beautifully down onto the snow, illuminating the ground in such a way that even if I didn't have my lantern, I could have made my way without stumbling on anyone's grave. It does not take long for me to make my way to another tomb and unlock it. I kick the piled snow away from the entrance and push open the door. The familiar scent of stale air of rushes out and mingles with clear, brisk air of the night.

Entering, I go at once to where my sister's urn is. I remove a glove and place my fingers against the ice cold stone and feel her name carved into the loculus.

"L-I-V-I-A-N-A"

A private burial space for the youngest of my three big sisters was one of the gifts I was given when I joined the order. They believed it would do me good to have a place to visit her.

"As if I don't know where my other sister's remains are."

Like all the other poor who died during the plague, Horatia's and Caecilia's bodies were cremated and the ashes placed in a mass grave. I know where the field is. I visit them too.

"But I will admit, it is comforting to be this close to her ashes."

I feel as though when I sign to her here, I know she can hear me in the beyond.

"Hello, Liviana," I say, "I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit you as much. I've been busy and a lot has been going on. Hopefully I'll have more time to come sing to you again. And I have so much else to tell you. I've been studying, practicing my letters. I can read your name now. You would be proud."

I lean my cheek against the stone.

"I miss you. I miss you so much."

A long deep sigh leaves me. The vapors of my breath swirl before my eyes and I swear I can hear Liviana's voice loud and clear in a memory.

"Look Karthus! It's like we're fire drakes!"

Then after saying that, she would blow a breath right at me and lead us on a fantastical adventure. We would fight frost trolls, travel to the far corners of the Empire, and hunt down deer, basilisks, bears, and any other thing she could think of. But always, we were home before Horatia so we could help her make dinner.

Warmth trickles down my cheek.

"No," I admonish myself, "shed no tears for the dead."

It's the same thing I have told others.

"She's not suffering anymore."

I want to forget, I want to forget so desperately how she sounded at the end. The pain on her face, every labored breath. It's etched in my mind as deeply as the letters in this stone.

"That's not how I want to remember you."

I want my memories of her to be of how we played and worked together, how she helped raise me, and how peaceful she looked when she finally became still.

"If only there were a way you exist in the painlessness of death but still have the consciousness to speak with me. If there were magic like that, I would find it for you."

"If only, Liv. If only we could be both."

More tears.

Suddenly, I hear scraping as the tomb door is pushed open.

"Karthus?" a familiar voice calls.

Hastily I dry my eyes. He doesn't need to see me crying.

"I'm here, Master Acheron."

A whistle of wind and a gust of cold air rushes into the tomb alongside Acheron, my sponsor and mentor. His looming figure in the doorway looks yet more imposing wrapped in his great white fur cloak, but his voice is as welcoming as a hearth's fire.

"Is something the matter?" I ask.

"I was going to ask you the same question," the Targonian responds, "You had been taking longer than usual to check the traps. I was worried you might have fallen and be freezing. I have no desire to burry my students."

He looks down at me with searching eyes. I know he is just checking to make sure I am not hurt but I feel like he is judging me. My eyes still feel swollen; he can likely tell I've been crying.

"I am relieved you are safe," he says at last, "do you want more time alone?"

"No. No, I'm alright," I put my glove back on, "I'm ready to go back inside."

Acheron raises a brow in surprise.

"You do not need to rush for my sake. Take as much time as you need."

"I can go. There is nothing that can be done anyway."

I just want to go wash my face. It's one thing if Acheron sees me like this, it is another if the other acolytes do.

"Karthus,"

He steps in front of me as I try to leave.

"If you want to leave, I will get out of your way, but let me speak first. May I do that?"

"Yes, master."

"Thank you."

Acheron reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. His thumb rubs in a circle, the same motion I have seen him use on many he has comforted.

"You don't have to be ashamed of how you are feeling. I know how you are before others who are grieving; calm beyond your years, levelheaded, knowing what needs to be done, detached, which at times may come across as cold, but never are you unkind and you strive to be respectful. Your presence is so often what the grieving need, especially when you use your gift of song. It's why I know you will make a fine tally-man one day."

"But today, it is different. Today I imagine you are wondering why you can't be that calm, levelheaded young man. To put it simply Karthus, it is different when it happens to you. The pain is close, personal; it makes it difficult to become the detached tally-man."

I turn my eyes away.

"But why?" I hear myself say, "Why can't I? I do it for everything else."

"Your mind thinks one thing but your heart feels another and its feelings are stronger. It hurts. And just as you would not be able to think clearly if you were physically injured, you cannot think clearly when your mind and heart ache as well. There is no shame in that."

"I should be able to."

There is a gentle squeeze at my shoulder.

"Look at me please."

I do. Acheron's dark eyes shine in shadows of the tomb. The look he gives meis kinder and gentler than any I have been given since the passing of my sisters.

"I would be more concerned if you felt no grief over their loss," he says, "to suffer like this is to be human."

"It's awful."

"It is."

Without thinking, my hand goes up and grips the space over my heart.

"I- I just wish I could tear it out and be done with the pain."

"It is impossible to avoid the pain of grief forever," Acheron says, "but that does not mean there is nothing you cannot do."

"What do I do?" I blurt out as soon as he finishes speaking.

"Give yourself time to feel. When you came to the temple, you threw yourself into your studies and work. You buried your grief in it. The anniversary of their deaths is almost here and I imagine that that grief is pushing its way up again. Don't bury it this time. Allow yourself to feel it. Do not let yourself be consumed by it, do not dwell there forever, but let it pass through you. And when it does, I hope you will feel at peace."

Warmth on my cheeks again.

"I don't want to cry in front of him."

"It's alright, Karthus, it's alright. Oh you are so young to experience this much tragedy."

No judgement in his voice.

I feel his fingers, rough and calloused from years of manual labor, close around my hand gripping my chest. Gently, he pulls back and I allow my hand to be led.

"And there is one more thing you can do. Let this grief motivate you. Remember it when you comfort others and become an empathetic tally-man. Let it remind you to be patient with others who are grieving. You loved them and they loved you. Let that love lead you as you work to ease the suffering of others."

"Ease the suffering of others."

"Yes. I know you will."

I nod. I don't have the ability to respond with words right now.

He gives my hand a final squeeze before releasing it and turning towards the door.

"Shall I leave you alone with her a while longer?" he asks.

"No, no, I'm alright for now," I answer as I wipe the tears from my face, "but I would like some time to come back tomorrow during the day when it is not as cold."

Acheron nods.

"I will make sure that there is time between your obligations to allow it."

"Thank you."

I place my hand on Liviana's loculus.

"Tomorrow," I promise her.

Then I follow Acheron back out into the night. Wind whistles through the empty graveyard, swirling the snow and stinging my cheeks. It makes me suddenly realize that my eyes are still quite swollen.

"Master Acheron," I say.

"Yes?"

"You go ahead. I still need a moment."

"I still refuse to let the others see me cry."

"I can wait with you if you would like."

I shrug.

Again the wind blows and chills me as though I weren't bundled up at all.

"Uuuhnn,"

Wisps from a long sigh dissipate as I wrap my arms around myself and curl my head down.

"Let the cold motivate you to be quick with pulling yourself back together."

And then the chill disappears. I look up and see Acheron beside me. He wraps his heavy cloak over my shoulders and holds it there until I grab it and pull it tight.

"It's warm. So warm and soft."

"Targonian mountain goat," he says, "their fur is thicker than most. It will keep you warm as long as you need."

"Thank you."

I pull it closer.

"It was my grandfather's," Acheron says as he lets out a sigh, "Even after all these years, I still miss him dearly. Wearing this keeps him close in my heart."

I look up to him. His eyes are turned towards the stars.

"One last thing, Karthus," he says without looking away, "the pain never really goes away. There will be days when you think you have healed completely and then grief will grip you again, even if only for a moment. But you have to remind yourself, the pain is because you loved them. Find purpose in the memory of that love and continue on."

Acheron's eyes glisten, but whether it is from tears or the stars reflected in them, I cannot tell. Perhaps it is both? I too turn my eyes skyward.

"Find purpose. Horatia, Caecilia, Liviana, I'm going to keep going. I'm going to work to ease the suffering of others until I too die and join you in eternal peace. Until then, I will go on."

My breath swirls before my eyes, drifting towards the heavens.