She stood abruptly, leaving her cabin without a cloak. Light snowfall prodded against her bare arms and clung to her clothes. Diving below deck she found Threlfall’s cabin shut, but unlocked. He lay exactly where he had fallen and the cold air had staved off decomposition. Only the bloody bootprints that disturbed the circle of moldavite and sand about him proved he had been discovered at all. The meaning of the circle was not evident to her, but surely it had meaning. That was heartening - perhaps he had not killed himself at all, perhaps it was some wizardly procedure gone wrong. The razor belied that, the cut it had made was the product of desperate intent.
Bethany found a packet of matches on Threlfall’s wrecked desk and lit the lamp there. She eased the door closed. His chair was too near his body to be moved with any dignity, so she sat on the end of his bunk. He had not been afforded a stove, the cabin was freezing, but Bethany felt that was proper. Her shivers were a very pale second to whatever agony had stalked the other occupant. If only to avoid looking at the body, she cast her eyes down the row of books. At the far end sat The Holy Writs. It looked much like every other copy Bethany had seen, bound in dark green with an Assembly stamp of excise and approval on its spine. It was, however, thicker. She took it down. The cover explained the increase in width; beneath the usual title and seal were the words: “Un-expunged Variant for Academic Use Only.” Opening it she found that it did not begin where she expected, finding that point instead nearly halfway into the text. Everything before it was new to her, but very old otherwise, the tone of the writing clashed with the almost breezy style she knew, meant to be read and sung aloud. It was meandering, footnoted - evidently by academics, and long portions stood untranslated from attic. Disoriented, she returned to the front of the book, where the chapters were listed. Again she recognized only the latter half. Among the first chapters was the heading “Services for Wizards and Witches.” She had never read those words in the Writs, and had never dreamed she would see them in it. Even saying them in proximity to the book seemed wrong, and yet there they sat. She found the pages the headings referenced. They were much like the services she was familiar with, there were quotations for birth, for marriage, and, indeed, for death. “On the Death by Age of a Wizard” was followed by “On the Martyrdom of a Wizard” and “On the Self Annihilation of a Wizard.” The last was the longest and footnotes disputed elements of it at length. The same writs were repeated, with variations, for witches. Bethany wondered what had been read at her mother’s grave, there was no chance that it was those words, as no acceptable priest would utter them except in refutation.
Bethany looked through book further, moving hurriedly away from the passages on death. In the ‘expunged’ portion the floridness of the writing was subdued by the drab, cheap printing. It was a far cry from Proctor’s and the other books like it Threlfall had on his shelf, which, though battered, looked worthy of containing things sacred. She felt a pang of disgust at the entire concoction - how much, if any, was true to the original, what and wherever that was - this copy, and the slimmer versions dispatched to every home under the Assembly, seemed engineered. Bethany laid it on the shelf and turned away. She could only look so long at the bulkhead before casting her eyes to Threlfall’s corpse. She wished to cry again, she was the only one who would do it for Threlfall, and though she had wept throughout the day she felt he was owed still more. She could not. Her chest ached from the sobs and she was desperately tired. Sleep seemed welcome, they could wake her when they came to take Threlfall - but the image of Threlfall dragging the razor across his throat charged at her whenever she closed her eyes.
She stood and stared at the corpse. When they came they would force him onto the sail cloth with oars if there was room, which there did not look to be. They would use their boots then, or boat hooks. His clothes would be torn, his skin cut. Kneeling by his head she regarded the gash in his neck and the river of blood that had run from it into the deck planking. Unlike the deck above, which was open to the weather, the wood here was unvarnished, allowing the blood to seep into it, where it would stay. His eyes were open, shutting them would have required touching him and no man had dared do that. Bethany reached for them, her hand hovering a hair’s distance away, so that he might know she would if she could. She let it fall a little further, her palm touching the tip of his nose. She felt nothing except the sick cold of dead flesh. If her luck was being ruined it was going quietly. Gently, she shut his eyes.
Bethany had carried two bodies in her life, a sleeping Marah’s and the corpse of Marah’s cousin, who had wandered into their garret at the conclusion of his last, longest drunk. Both had been lighter than Threlfall, but hooking her arms beneath his shoulders, after several false starts, she pulled him onto his bunk. Now, when they came for him they would not be scraping him from the deck like a glob of pitch. His head lolled unnaturally, the cut in his neck acting as a sort of hinge. A pillow behind it helped, though it made the wound even more apparent. Bethany tore a long, thin length of linen from the bunk’s sheet and wrapped it about his neck, hiding the wound beneath a tattered cravat. With the last of the icy water from the basin and pitcher she scrubbed the blood from his face and arms. There was more to clean, all down his chest and back, but she dared not strip or turn him. She ran a hand through his hair, trying to break the bloody matting and make it neat, as became an officer. This done she rose from the bunk-side.
Her gaze landed on The Holy Writs. She lifted it again, opening it to the services for death in the latter half. She had never read them, but had heard a few. Before hangings, from a priest over a man dying of fever beneath her garret, and at the grave on Kjell. None of them seemed sufficient to the moment, they were short, almost perfunctory, and made no allowance for suicide. Again regretting opening the book she moved to throw it on the shelf when the expunged text came into view. There, of course, was something meant exactly for Threlfall. She stopped and read it silently, though the text preceding it asked for it to be read aloud. She feared that. She was as lay as could be, she had sneered at the Writs, she had no right to use them now, especially not the ancient and expunged.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Yet, she began to whisper, “father, brothers, take this wizard, your companion, who has come to ruin on this plane, and bring him again into your light which he left at birth, but which has burned within. Judge the use of the skills that you have chosen to grant him and, I beg, find them employed in each instance without malice. You and he only know why he now lies dead, forgive him his choice as you forgive all innocent failings. Know that myself and the world judge his end a loss to us all, know that he did not leave to escape man’s judgment or the just recompense of the wronged for any cruelty, any dishonesty but for reasons obscure...”
The lamp winked out. In the darkness a constellation of moldavite shimmered into view. It hovered above Threlfall’s body, growing all the time as more flowed up from his skin. A thin tendril of it reached out to her, encircling her wrist. It exerted no force, but guided her until her hand touched Threlfall’s limp right arm. The cold, ashen skin grew quickly warm. Retracting the tendril, the moldavite danced about Threlfall, making helices around him as it had when he sent it out on the wind to predict the weather. The helix about the top of his head widened and sprouted another tendril. This one reached for Bethany and the rest soon followed, encircling her and gradually dissipating until the cabin was left in darkness. After a long moment of black, freezing silence, the lamp flared to life. Bethany searched the bunk and floor for the moldavite, but did not find it. In the mirror above the washstand she saw it in her eyes.
Her legs grew weak, she slumped against the foot of the bunk. The hand that had touched Threlfall was hot and trembling. Her mind was unaltered, at least so far, by the swarm of moldavite. If it had meant to help her it was not succeeding. She shut her eyes and could see the little particles dancing in the darkness. Heavy footfalls came down the corridor. Bethany stood quickly and tried to gather herself. Badrine was the first to enter. Four sailors stood behind him, bearing a sailcloth stretcher. He was startled to see the lamp lit and Threlfall gone from the floor, but calmed when he spied Bethany. After her he looked the corpse up and down.
“That was good of you, but terribly foolish,” he observed, sighing.
He moved into the cabin, allowing the sailors to follow. The second of them stood stock still, pointing at Bethany, “good God, what’s the matter with her?” he stammered.
Badrine glared at the man and then looked back to Bethany, he met her eyes, “are you alright?”
“I will be,” Bethany murmured.
“So you know about...” Badrine went on, indicating his eyes.
Bethany nodded.
“Alright fellows let’s begin, and don’t trouble the lady,” Badrine instructed.
The stretcher was brought forward and held next to the bunk. A sailor wielding a shovel tried to lever Threlfall off. Bethany stopped him. With the help of the sheets and a more delicate-handed sailor using a shortened oar, Bethany moved the body over. Badrine led the men out of the cabin, turning at the last second to say: “put that lamp out.”
Bethany did and followed them. The cold air cut her as they went on deck.
They stopped against the gunnel just beyond the stairs and were beginning to raise the stretcher when Badrine interceded, “to the stern, lads, I know amidships is the tradition but we can’t have him fouling the screw.”
At the stern the stretcher was rested on the gunnel, still held at the head end by two sailors. The other two fetched a short, heavy length of chain and bundled it about his feet. Bethany grimaced. “It’s so he sinks, believe me it’s better that way,” Badrine consoled.
The ship’s belled tolled midnight.
“By the command of the officer of the watch, bury the dead,” Badrine intoned.
The sailors tipped the stretcher aft and Threlfall slid rapidly down the sailcloth, hitting the black water with a loud splash. Bethany ran to the railing and looked down. A bit of cloth floated where he had gone in, but his body had already vanished.
“The burying party is dismissed,” Badrine concluded. The sailors melted away, going below or to their stations. Badrine began to leave the fantail as well but stopped and turned, joining Bethany at the rail.
“Try to get some sleep. I know that will be hard, but sitting up in agony is no help to anyone.”
Bethany looked up at him, her eyes still aglow.
“I am terribly sorry,” Badrine added, and left.
Bethany watched the wake churn away, leaning on the rail. If she only leaned a little more she would have plenty of rest. She let her self slip, half of her body dangling over the water, but drew back. She walked back to her cabin, gathering her now bloody dressing gown against the cold. Opening the door she found it dark save for the few fingers of light that reached from the grate of her stove. She went over to it and reached for the coal scuttle.
The howl of naval artillery drew her instantly out and to the gunnel. Beyond Tess the muzzle flash of a small battery split the night.
From the opposite side of Fletch’s superstructure Badrine bellowed “Beat to quarters!”
The ship awoke at once. Bethany pressed herself tightly against the superstructure to avoid being trampled. The unknown ship fired again, striking Tess’ foremast. Sails and rigging clattered to the barquentine’s deck. She slowed but her decks were also filling with men. Bethany heard the clatter of shells and slamming breech-blocks on the wind. The side of Tess nearest the enemy lit up with gunfire. One of her shells landed short but the other seemed to connect, sending an explosion blooming into the night.