Chapter 79: The Corpse
"Father!"
Something was wrong. Karthus could hear it in Achlys's voice.
They had been heading towards the beach and Achlys had raced on ahead when he heard her cry out. Karthus rushed after her. He burst from the gnarled tree line, soaring over the sand and sparse, pointed grasses as swiftly as his magic could carry him.
Near the water's edge, Achlys stood still as a statue. Acheron circled above her, letting out a piteous shriek but Karthus could not sense the presence of any hostile wraiths that may be attacking her and causing her guardian distress. And then he saw it. In the sand was the body of a human.
Karthus went to Achlys's side. He could feel the fear radiating from her. Her bright eyes were wide with as she stared unflinching at the corpse. Her lower lip trembled, as if she was trying to say something but couldn't think of the word. With a gentle movement, Karthus placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Achlys,"
"Is she?"
"She is dead."
"Oh, okay."
Her voice was soft and though she had confirmed what he had said, Karthus could hear the confusion in her tone as if she still wasn't sure what she was looking at.
Absent mindedly, Achlys reached out to the empty air beside her, searching for Acheron. The little construct glided down and pressed into her hand. She ran her fingers along his carved form as she continued to stare.
"There's blood." She said.
"There is. Living bodies bleed."
Karthus kept his tone even and matter-of-fact.
He looked down and examined the body himself. The corpse was that of a woman. He guessed that she had been dead for several days, though this was a difficult thing to estimate as the magic of the Isles slowed the rate of decay. What he knew for certain was that she had died a painful death.
It was as Achlys had said, there was blood. It seeped through her clothing, blotching it like bruises, and stained the sand around her. Lacerations visible through torn cloth showed where the wraiths of the Isles had gouged their claws across her. The skin there was discolored to black as though damaged by intense cold.
Bone, a shard of white against the red, stood out boldly on the largest of the corpse's wounds. From the back of the knee to the ankle, the flesh had been flayed open, torn and ruptured as if by the claw of something monstrously large. Behind the body, a trail of blood dragged through the sand showed that the last few moments of the woman's life were spent desperately trying to crawl away.
As gruesome as the leg was, it was not where Achlys's attention was. Her eyes were locked on the dead woman's face. The corpse's expression was frozen in agony and terror. Dried blood covered the corners of her mouth, her lips were open in a pained last gasp, and her lifeless eyes looked up at the young girl.
"She looks like she's in pain."
"Not every death is painless. Some die in agony, but then the pain is over."
Her brow furrowed at his response.
"You will not." Karthus promised. He pointed to the trail in the sand. "See how she fled at the end. With an injury as grave as hers, she must have known death was upon her and yet she still crawled. It would have been easier to accept her fate. Her suffering would have ended sooner." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I know you will not flee. You will not suffer."
"I know."
"For you it will feel like waking up."
The words he spoke were ones of truth and comfort, but Karthus could feel that her fear was still not lessened. It burned bright and, like a beacon, drew in lesser wraiths. He could sense them nearby, hungry but keeping a respectable distance. Overhead he saw a pair circle like vultures over carrion.
For years he had trained her to control her emotions so that she could live on the Isles without drawing the attention of dangerous wraiths, but all that growth and practice was forgotten before the corpse. The sight of it was troubling her deeply. She knelt down beside the corpse and reached out a hand as though she was going to touch the face, but pulled her hand back at the last second. Instead she placed it to her own cheek and ran her fingers down, tracing the shape where a wraith had clawed the dead woman. And then Karthus realized why it was that this disturbed his daughter. With the exception of Elise, this was the first mortal body Achlys had ever seen. This person looked closest to her and was frozen in a pose of suffering.
Karthus lowered himself to be closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He felt her press into him.
"The body is a shell. In the grand vision, it means nothing. It is the soul that matters."
"I don't see her wraith."
"No, but she is here on the Isles. Though she may not have known it, she had found salvation here. Rejoice that this is where she died rather than afar."
"Rejoice? She looks like she's in pain."
"She is not. The body feels nothing."
"I know but, but,"
"It still troubles you to see the body like this."
Achlys nodded.
"Then we shall clean it and set it to rest. It will put your mind at ease to see it through its proper funerary rights."
Karthus handed his tally-staff over to Achlys before turning the body over and cradling it in his arms. Though his form appeared frail his strength was born of magic, and he was able to carry the dead weight as easily as he could carry Achlys.
As he began to move, there was a wet pattering noise. Globs of congealed blood slid from the open leg and clumped in the sand below. Achlys staggered back at the sight and gripped the staff tighter. Somehow, she looked even paler.
"The body feels no pain." Karthus reminded.
A weak whimper was Achlys's response. Taking care not to step in it, she darted around to her father's side and stood opposite the leg. Once more, the corpse's face drew in her attention.
"Let us go back to the cathedral."
She nodded but still could not find her words.
"Stay close."
"Okay," came her voice at last.
It was a quiet as the grave.
Upon the altar was where Karthus placed the body. The stone was not sized to hold a human body and the corpse's feet hung over the edge. The sound of the plip-plip from the dead blood dripping from the leg was the loudest sound in the cathedral. Other sounds came from the whispers of Karthus's choir as they gathered around the body, but with a wave of his hand, he dismissed them so they would not distract Achlys. They retreated to rest among the pews where they could continue to look on. Once they had settled, it was quiet in the cathedral.
Only Karthus and his daughter remained at the altar. Karthus's hollow eyes looked over the body. From the corner of his vision he could see that Achlys was still fixated on the dead woman's face. He reached over and closed the woman's mouth and carefully pinched the eyelids shut with his claws so that, if you were to ignore the blood, she would look asleep. Only then did Achlys turn away from the face and look up at him.
"This is the fate of all living things. Do not fear it."
"I'm not afraid of dying."
He knew she was speaking the truth but he heard how doubt made her words quiver.
"You are afraid of the pain."
She nodded.
"I have said already, the pain is but a moment when compared to eternity. Then, there is bliss. Here," Karthus handed her a cloth and pointed to a bowl of water on the altar, "wash the body and reflect on the ephemeral nature of it."
"Okay."
She took the cloth from him, dipped it into the bowl, took hold of the body's cold arm, and began to wipe the blood from it.
A full array of mortician's tools were not available to him, but Karthus set himself to preparing the body as best as he was capable of. Part of him felt that all this ceremony over an empty shell was unnecessary but as he dipped his fingers into a pot of ash and drew the mark of the Kindred upon the brow of the corpse, he could not deny the sense of calm contentment that came over him. These motions were familiar to his soul; they had been a core of his life. A compulsion to see the ritual through filled him and he surrendered to its call. It had been too long since he had done this work and laboring over the still body would be a peaceful affirmation of his beliefs.
"No pain. No suffering. There shall be only peace."
Karthus picked up a tool and pressed it through the flesh. Fluids had to be drained. During his time as a tally-man, Karthus had participated in all aspects of the order's many duties: corpse collector, mortician, caretaker of the dying, leader of funerary rights, dirge singer. He moved through the steps of body preparation with practiced efficiency. He was comfortable enough in his work that was able to keep most of his attention on Achlys.
Her sunken eyes held a more somber expression than he was accustomed to seeing. She worked slowly, stopping every so often just to look at whatever part of the body she was cleaning. He watched as she spread her hand across the back of the corpse's, comparing their sizes before gently holding it when she though he wasn't looking. She threaded her fingers so softly between the others, taking in the texture of the wrinkled skin on the joints and calloused fingertips. A large, old scar from a puncture wound held her attention for a while as she traced her fingers around the shape of it.
Once, and only once, did he see her linger on a wound inflicted by a wraith. She was hesitant to touch the flesh there. Briefly, he saw balefire flicker around her fingers as she contemplated placing her magic against the spot. She never did. She extinguished her magic but did push back on the wound to peek at the flesh below. The movement disturbed the settled blood and some trickled out. Achlys dropped the arm with a gasp.
"It is only blood. Avoid spilling it on you but it is not going to leap out and attack you."
To emphasize his point, he showed her the pan he had been draining the body into. It was thick with a mixture of reds that gave off a foul metallic odor.
"We will clean it all."
"Okay."
She returned to her task more focused than before.
"When you have finished wiping everything but the mark from the brow, brush the hair. You may leave it down or braid it."
"I don't know which she would prefer."
"The body is empty. The choice matters not to it. This process is for those who remain and must wait for their time to come. Achlys, right now that is you."
"Oh, yeah. I am."
"There is much on your mind, I can tell. You have been given much to reflect upon. Even after all this time, I can recall the first time I saw a corpse. For me as well it was a moment of fear and awe. You have been doing very well."
"I have."
She said the words as both a question and a statement.
Karthus put the mortician's tools aside and began to pose the body for repose as Achlys brushed out the hair. She chose to put it in a simple braid and when she had finished it, she positioned it over the shoulder to try and conceal one of the larger bloodstains.
"Are you satisfied?" Karthus asked.
"I am."
He nodded and went to retrieve a length of salvaged sail cloth. He draped it over the body to serve as the funerary shroud.
"What do we do now?" Achlys asked.
"Now the body would be laid to rest in a manner the grieving family would have decided, but since there is no one, I have made that decision. The body will be burned."
"Where?"
"We have no pyre. We shall make space in the yard to serve as one."
Without a sound Karthus glided into the courtyard with Achlys not far behind. They went to the far side of the yard and Karthus traced the shape of a bier into the ground with the end of his staff. Out from it, he continued to make an ornamental pattern in the shapes of swirling mist. At times the pattern curled in on itself and spiraled to form the mark of the Kindred hidden throughout. When Karthus completed the pattern, he drew a circle around it.
"We shall need no fuel."
Arcane marks of fire and consumption were etched along the outer ring. Then at last, Karthus's staff came to a stop.
"It is ready. Achlys, help me carry the body."
With the upper body and the bulk of the dead weight supported by Karthus and the legs held up by Achlys, they carried the body to the marked space. The wound on the leg had been cleaned and tied shut as best as possible. No blood soaked through to Achlys's fingers but the feeling of a soft indentation where there shouldn't be one caused the young girl to visibly shudder at the touch. Members of the choir followed behind them to form a funerary procession and gathered round the spot. Together they lowered the body. Though she had been squeamish while carry it, Achlys seemed reluctant to let it go at the last second. Ultimately, she did and stepped back to be surrounded by the comforting presence of the choir. Karthus then took his position to the side of the body and spoke.
"The hunt has ended."
Those were words he had said countless times in his life and he said them with the clear, steady tone of a practiced orator.
"But by arrows or fangs, that is only for the soul to know. The body now lies broken, spent and empty, but we do not mourn it. We gathered here are the blessed ones and we know the truth. The body is but a cocoon and all cocoons break when their purpose is fulfilled. A spirit has been set free, far more magnificent than it could ever have been in life. Rejoice!"
Stirred by Karthus's passion, several of the gathered wraiths tilted their heads back to the moody sky and howled.
"We blessed ones gather now to see off the last mortal reminder. We shall see it turn to ash and spread across the shores so that even as the soul becomes one with the Mist, the body too shall become one with the Isles."
Light sprang from the end of Karthus's staff brighter than even the shrouded sun above. Achlys blinked her eyes before the sudden brilliance but could not look away. Karthus placed the base of his staff into the pattern he had carved. At the touch, light like cascading rapids spilled over from the top of his staff. It rushed over the stained glass gems embedded in the staff and countless tally marks carved into it, illuminating each and every one it passed over. The magic poured into the carvings on the ground and spread through each elegant curl. Moment by moment, it continued to spread its scintillating light around the body until the entirety of the complex pattern was illuminated. Then, all at once, the magic rushed into the central outline of the bier and the body erupted into pale flames. The spectral fire bathed all those gathered in its cold light, making Achlys appear as pale as her father's phosphorous flame.
Karthus raised an outstretched arm to the fire and began to sing.
"Shed your life,
Shed you light.
Fear not the dark,
Fear not the night.
Wrapped in radiance,
Eternity in sight."
The fire swelled and ebbed in time with his voice. They were his magic, an extension of himself as sure as his song was. As he sang, he saw a single tear, silver in the haunting light, trickle down Achlys's cheek. Her lips quivered, almost mouthing the words to the dirge. She knew the words, he had taught them to her, but she was silent.
"Achlys, join your voice to mine."
She looked up at him. The brilliance of her eyes were not dulled by the light.
"Sing." He reassured.
"Shed your life,
Shed you light.
Fear not the dark,
Fear not the night.
Wrapped in radiance,
Eternity in sight."
Karthus repeated the joyful refrain and this time Achlys joined. Her living voice was clear among the baleful sounds of the wraiths. Tears that had been welling in her eyes spilled over and she wept as she sang.
"Shed your life,
Shed you light.
Fear not the dark,
Fear not the night.
Wrapped in radiance,
Eternity in sight."
Achlys closed her eyes and sang with her soul. Father's and daughter's voices intertwined and poured power into the flames. They flared upwards and began to eat away at the body. The corpse began to wither slowly at first, skin shrinking and pulling tight. Then it began to flake away from it as if times had suddenly advanced centuries in a matter of moments. Skin, bones, hair, clothing, and all were reduced to dust without so much as a wisp of smoke rising from the pyre.
When Achlys opened her eyes again, the body was gone. The last notes of the dirge drifted from her like a sigh and she stared at the barren ground. Karthus glided to her side and tenderly wrapped an arm around her. Silently, he remained there. He could still feel so many emotions flowing through her but they were calmer than before. This, he knew, was simply mortal resignation.
At last, she looked up at him with pink swollen eyes and shimmering cheeks.
"Shed no tears for the dead."
Karthus reached out to brush them from her eyes but she wiped them away herself.
"I'm not crying for her. I don't know why I'm crying. I just am."
"Then let them be tears of joy."
"I will try."
He nodded. He kept her close and after several moments, she leaned into him. He felt her wrap her arms around him in a tight hug as she rested her face against his chest. He could still feel her crying.
"I will try." She repeated. "I want these to be tears of joy."
"At your time they will be. They will be."
He rubbed her back as she held him and hummed a lullaby he sang to her when she was very small until the strange sorrow left her. Then she squeezed him close one more time and pulled herself away.
"I wish they could all die like I will. She looked so afraid and in pain, like she wasn't ready."
"Death finds us whether we are ready or not. It is why the Wolf hunts. Not all will be as fortunate as you."
"I wish they could be."
"Then make it so. You have the magic. You know the songs. Comfort those you guide as I try to."
"I will try."