Page 104 of By the Horns
“She’s got holder blood,” I tell him.
“Ahhhh. That explains it.”
It really does. Even though she’s working as an archivist now, Sparrow can put on the invisible mantle of a holder as easily as breathing. She takes on an air of unquestionable authority, as if it’s her gods-given rightto go wherever she pleases. And it works, more often than not. I’m grateful that she’s helping us, because I probably would have flailed the moment I got through the doorway and felt the presence of the spirits inside.
Then again, maybe not. Because I’m determined to see this through. Hemmen deserves for his Five to come through for him. Those who have died deserve justice, too. If I can help them, I will. I’ve sat quietly for too long in my life, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get in the way of my becoming a guild artificer.
Sparrow heads past the murals of the five hells, pushing aside a curtain in the back. There, another nun comes out to greet us, this one in the tall sunburst-shaped headdress of the god of the dead. She’s an older woman, but her expression is kind. When Sparrow explains what we’d like to do, she simply nods and leads us down the hall.
“The dead are given a natron massage and then rest in the god’s arms for ten days before we send them on,” she says. “You can sit and pray for him, and you will not be disturbed. I must warn you as I warn everyone, however, that he will not look the same as he did in life. His mortal flesh has been rubbed with sacred oils, and even now, there might be some bloating and a faint smell. This is all part of the god’s natural way of reclaiming his children, so do not be alarmed.” Her sweet smile never falters. “But perhaps do not touch anything.”
“Of course not,” I say brightly, even though I’m intending to do just that.
We’re led into the inner chamber. The god’s arms, as the priestess called it. The dead are brought here for the ten days between the moment of death and the god taking them into his arms and leading them to one of the five hells. The double wooden doors open and then an intense smell of incense and rot wafts through the air. The feeling of death overwhelms me, and I dig my nails into my palm so hard that hot pain shoots through my hand. Kipp makes a choked sound that he tries to muffle, and it takes everything I have not to cover my mouth from the smell.
“As I said,” the priestess continues, “this is all very natural, but it is not easy for the living. You can sit on one of the benches here.” She gestures at a series of hard marble benches lining the walls of the room.
The interior of the chamber would be lovely if not for the stink. I’m familiar with the rites of the dead, but back at Honori Hold, I rarelyattended them. There was never an official ceremony for any servant who died, and the servants were never invited to the death rites of anyone important. Even though I’ve known about Romus and the temple rites all my life, this is my first time experiencing them. Add in that the dead are throbbing in the air around me, and I feel like I’m choking as we’re led into the waiting chamber. It’d probably be a very pretty, serene place to visit if not for, well, all the death. The ceiling is nothing but fragile painted glass, full of colors and light. It streams in from above, sending down a kaleidoscope of colors onto the gray marble floor. Wreaths of dried flowers cover everything, along with boughs of heavily scented leaves. There are three marble biers in the center of the room, and to my surprise, there’s more than one dead man. There are three.
Of course. It stands to reason that there’d be more than one person paying for a god-blessed funeral in the entire city. This…just wasn’t part of my plan. But there’s nothing to be done for it.
Each marble bier is spaced apart from the others, the dead person covered with thick, heavy sheets. The fabric of the sheet is adorned with Romus’s blessing symbols, and as we step deeper inside, I can’t help but notice that each of the marble biers that the bodies rest upon are tilted, and a bowl for catching liquid is set at the foot of each bier.
I don’t want to know what the muckthatis for.
“We shall pray right here,” Sparrow says, indicating that we should all sit on the bench she’s chosen. “And while my friends say their goodbyes, might I have a word with you, Holy Mother? My father—Lord Honori of Honori Hold—could use a bit more guidance from the god’s people. Our last priest of Romus died when I was twelve and has never been replaced, and I am deeply concerned about his spiritual health.”
The priestess’s eyes widen. “Lord Honori?” At Sparrow’s nod, the woman all but blushes. “Truly, it would be an honor to offer advice to anyone in a holder’s family. What are your concerns exactly?”
“My father has a new wife and son,” Sparrow continues, and discreetly closes the door behind her, shutting herself into the hall with the priestess and leaving me, Kipp, and Arrod with the dead. It’s a clever distraction, and I’m grateful for it.
Kipp makes another choked sound in the silence of the room.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” I press my sleeve to my nose to muffle the scents.My skin is crawling, but I ignore it. “I need to be close to do this, though. Maybe…maybe you and Arrod watch the doors from the other side?”
The slitherskin all but runs for the door, cracking it open and slipping back out. Arrod remains steadfast at my side, but it’s clear from the way he holds himself that he’s not breathing through his nose. “I can take it. It’s just a bit of rot. Do what you need to do.”
I nod at him, my heart fluttering with anxiety.
Time to begin.
The moment I unclench and relax against all the sensations that have been threatening to overwhelm me since we got close to the temple, the strange power washes over me. It’s like being sucked under water. My skin prickles so hard it feels like it’s trying to come off my body, but I force myself to relax, to allow the sensation to move through me without fighting it. I open my eyes slowly….
Three spirits shimmer into place in the air around us.
They’re not people. Not really. More like foggy blobs with vague people-like faces. It’s as if they don’t know how to hold themselves together without flesh, and so they slip and slither in the air, with only the barest sense of limbs or a head. There are eyes, though, frightening in their darkness, like two holes punched in parchment. And all three sets of eyes are focused on me.
The babbling of the dead fills my head even as the spirits reach for me, drifting forward.
They can’t do anything to you, I remind myself.They’ve been here this whole time. They’re just now realizing that you can see them, that’s all.I force myself to relax, to study each of the amorphous faces to try to determine which one is Hemmen. The babbling in my ears gets louder, their words nonsense, and they take on a more desperate edge with every moment that passes.
“Any luck?” Arrod asks from his spot at the door.
I ignore him and focus on the three spirits in front of me. “Let me talk to Hemmen.”
Two of them surge forward, trying to get my attention. They reach for my face and hair, their strange words more frantic, even as one of the spirits hangs back. Somehow, I sense that’s the one I’m looking for, but I’m not going to get anything done with the other two flooding theroom with chills and strange, incomprehensible words. My head throbs and I feel dizzy, and I know it’s from them overwhelming me. “Please stop,” I whisper. “I can’t handle this. Not all of you at once.”
They continue to talk, ignoring my words, and their tones take on a frantic edge, which makes my heart beat faster. I need help. I need…something. A guiding hand. A mentor. Help. I can’t do this alone.
