Alessandra and Jerome

Alessandra sullenly looked out the carriage window.

“Aless, you really should stop pouting,” Evan said

Alessandra ignored him. She thought two days with no sweets seemed a bit harsh as punishment for a joke. She would never shank a family member. She jumped as someone poked her in her ribs. She turned and glared at Evan, wondering if brothers counted as family. Staring him directly in the eyes, she slowly stroked the small knife that Father had recently started letting her carry everywhere. She then slowly turned her lips up in what Miss Yvette called her “creepy as all the hells” smile. Seeing him scoot to the other side of the carriage, she slowly turned her head back to the window. Miss Yvette’s advice on how to deal with brothers was proving correct. Don’t fight directly; always leave them guessing what you will do. The quitter and less direct your actions, the better. That way, when you do actually fight back, your parents will be more likely to believe you were just defending yourself. Sibling rivalry could be fun! She continued to stroke her knife and started cackling.

****

Jerome looked at his youngest creepily, stroking her knife and cackling to herself.

“Helga, dear, should we be worried?”

“She is a powerful mage, barely civilized, and a girl. I am not worried. As her father, you should be terrified,” she replied without even looking at the proceedings. “Just imagine all the boys who will be chasing her in a few years. The only daughter of the Halrond main line, and with her skin tone and hair? We will have to deforest the province to have enough sticks to beat them off with.” She turned and gave him an evil smile. “Just imagine all the damage control you will have to do, my dear Duke, the first time she deals with a boy who breaks her heart.”

Jerome groaned and banged his head against the carriage wall, “Why must you remind me of what the future holds? The present is annoying enough.” He waved at Alessandra, still cackling to herself, and asked, “How do you propose we deal with this?”

Helga deigned to look at their daughter and son, sighed, and said, “We don’t, dear. She is dealing with her annoying brother in a harmless but direct way. It’s good for her and Evan to learn each other’s boundaries. Also, I told Yvette what advice to give her, so I know it’s mostly an act.” Alessandra pulled her knife out, looked at her brother, and started mumbling to the knife, which started to faintly glow a dark violet. Helga’s eyes widened, “I hope.”

****

Alessandra dropped her glowing knife in fright. She looked over at Mother and Father, who were staring at her in surprise.

“Alessandra,” Evan said in his Instructor voice, “What were you telling your knife before it started glowing?”

She looked over at her brother and answered, “I was telling it that it’s a good knife and that I will soak it in the blood of my enemies one day, and that will make it stronger so it can protect me better.”

Evan picked up the knife and examined it. He then handed it to Father, who did the same, before shuddering and putting the knife in his cloak. Alessandra thought she heard it wail as it was put away.

“Setting aside the disturbing things you were telling your knife, were you doing or feeling anything?” Evan asked.

Alessandra shook her head, “I was just trying to be creepy to bug you.” She felt her eyes begin to water, “I don’t really think you’re my enemy!” she wailed and jumped on him, glomping onto his neck.

She felt Evan’s strong but gentle arms wrap her up protectively. “I know, I know,” he mumbled into her hair. “You did nothing wrong, just surprising, is all. That’s a normal steel knife and should not react to mana at all.”

She felt herself being pried off Evan by Mother’s strong but gentle hands and let go to glomp onto her. Her glomp was foiled when she was set on Father’s lap. Mother made a noise that Evan apparently recognized by the amused noises he made, as Mother summoned a small ball of water, which she used to wet a handkerchief that she had summoned using “Mother Magic.” Realizing what was about to happen and wanting none of it, Alessandra tried to jump off Father’s lap, but he held her firm as Mother started cleaning her face.

****

Jerome looked down at the squirming girl in his lap and chuckled as memories of his sons doing the same surfaced. They, however, had been able to mostly sit still by the time they were Alessandra’s age, which reminded Jerome that Alessandra had not had any real parenting up until just a few weeks ago. The Fluffies had warned them that she would have some behavior and maturity issues. As far as he was concerned, if acting young for her age and being a bit clingy were her biggest issues, well, that was fine. Alessandra had been through enough neglect that any way she chose to show trust was alright in his mind. Well … almost any way. Her tendency to want to stab people that annoyed her or those she cared about was alarming. Hopefully, their visit to the Sanctum of the Dead would solve that little problem.

As the carriage came to a gentle stop Jerome saw Helga now had a brush in her hand - where she kept all the accessories she was always pulling out he would never know - and was trying to straighten Alessandra’s hair.

“Alessandra, let your Mother fix your hair, or we will be late. We don’t want to keep the Archbishop waiting, do we?” Jerome gently chided.

Alessandra tried to look up, but a look from Helga stopped her. Instead, she spoke in a singsong voice, “Clergy are to be respected, and we should not waste their time. Tell them your big problems and big worries, and follow their guidance, but tell your parents your small ones. But Father, I don’t have any BIG problems or worries, so why do I have to see an Archbishop? If a Priest is busy, isn’t an Archbishop even busier?”

“They are; that’s why we don’t want to keep him waiting. Being on time is respectful. And while you may not have a worry, your Mother and I do. Archbishop Feratu was kind enough to make time for us today, so don’t you think we should be on time?”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Helga leaned back, gave Alessandra one last look, and made the brush disappear. Jerome freed Alessandra. She quickly slid to the floor, straightened her dress, and confidently answered his question, “Yes, we should.” Then, before anyone could stop her, she opened the carriage door and started to climb down.

****

Alessandra decided to jump out of the carriage and landed with grace and elegance. She then placed her hands on her head and grimaced as Miss Kat gave her a head chop.

“How many times do we have to tell you to wait for the guards to open the door, young lady?”

“As many as it takes?” Alessandra answered questionily. She received another chop. She rubbed her head and felt Father’s hand grab one of hers.

“Come dear, we need to head inside now.”

Alessandra looked up and then up some more, gazing at the Sanctum of the Dead. She gazed upon a mural depicting people on their deathbeds; with how many people there were, she figured it must have been showing an old plague or something. Above that mural, there was another with what looked like some sprites that were collecting the people’s souls despite all the people crying and reaching up for the departing souls. The next mural showed a bunch of people wearing black comforting the crying people from the other mural while others also in black burned the bodies on a large pyer. She wondered why all the people in black were so pale and had purple hair. She looked around some more and saw another mural depicting an execution, but in that one, the person in black was making the sprite take the soul down underground. In another mural showing a battle, the people in black were talking with souls and zombies. That one was just weird. Why would you talk to a zombie? They were supposed to be stupid.

She looked above the murals and saw some statues that looked like wailing souls, zombies, ghouls, and other undead that she didn’t recognize carved out of black stone with red veins running through it. There were statues of people in robes praying or holding swords carved out of pure black stone that appeared to be fighting the undead ones. She thought it was supposed to be creepy or intimidating. She thought the statues an odd choice; she had been taught the Priests of Death were all necromancers who were supposed to help the undead find peace and move on to the afterlife, but the statues were cute in their own way.

Father and Mother led her inside, with Evan, Miss Kat, and the other guards following behind. Inside the Sanctum were more statues carved out of black and red stone, all depicting people in the act of dying. There was one where a man was being stabbed by a woman, carved of pure black, holding a knife. Another showed a naked woman held in a weird contraption with a pole being put in her rear end by a grim-faced man, who, like the woman with the knife, was also carved of pure black. Alessandra wondered why all the people doing the killing were carved of black stone while those who were dying were carved of black and red stone. Mother didn’t let her look at that one long but dragged her past it quickly.

“Dear, let us hurry along, carry Alessandra please,” Mother ordered.

Alessandra knew that voice and didn’t struggle when Father picked her up. She still looked around as they proceeded down the hall and saw a few more statues. She decided that when she was older, she would come back without Mother and take her time looking at the statues. They were giving her ideas. It would be so cool to pull someone’s insides out like that man was doing to that woman over there. She heard a door open and the sound of someone running. She looked over and saw a young person; she couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman with the robes they were wearing and long purple hair. The person stopped a few feet in front of them and knelt.

A pleasant soprano voice came from the bowed head, “Your Grace’s, I am so sorry. The last of the Damnation Rituals for those executed last month was held last night, and the acolytes who were supposed to swap these statues for those of the Peaceful Send-Off shirked their duties. They have been severely punished. You have the Sanctum's deepest apologies.”

Before her parents could speak, Alessandra did, “Oh, so the pretty statues aren’t supposed to be here?”

The Priestess raised her head and gave Alessandra a strange look. She looked at a statue of a man getting his head chopped off and asked, “Pretty statues?”

****

“Pretty statues?” the Priestess asked.

“Priestess, your apologies are accepted. The young often cause more mischief than intended. Are you our guide to the Archbishop?” Jerome asked before Alessandra could reply.

“I am Your Grace,” The Priestess said with relief, glad to be on familiar ground. “If you would please follow me to the Grand Mortuary?”

Jerome nodded and led his family through a less gruesomely decorated hall. As they entered the Grand Mortuary, why could they call it something less grisly, he thought; he noticed Alessandra looking around with interest at the statues and paintings of people passing on peacefully. This was the scene they should have been greeted with in the entry chamber, he thought to himself. They were here to help Alessandra learn that Death was inevitable and should neither be sought after nor embraced. He silently prayed to Wilson that Feratu had the words to help her understand this.

They made their way through the Mortuary to a slightly raised dais where a man of indeterminate age sat. He was dressed in the traditional garb of an Archbishop of death, though Jerome felt he did embrace the theatrical dress a bit more than Archbishop Stroker back home in Halrond. His robes were as dark as the new moon, while his skin was as white as the full. His hair was the most violent purple Jerome had ever seen on any of the Clergy of Death. He had painted his nails alternating purple and black. Yes, Jerome thought to himself, very melodramatic this one. Well, to join Deaths Church, one had to be a little weird. Jerome braced himself for flowery speech dripping with euphemisms that he or Helga would have to explain to Alessandra.

Archbishop Feratu smiled as the family drew close and dismissed the Priestess with a wave of his hand. “Please take a seat, your guards are welcome to stay, of course, but they are not needed here. I am the Archbishop of Death, Feratu. I understand that the young lass here has a propensity to think that killing people can solve all her problems. Is that correct?”

“That is correct, Archbishop,” Helga replied. “We were hoping that you could explain what happens after someone dies and what the consequences are to those left behind to Alessandra. We and her Therapist have tried but it has yet to hit home for her.”

The Archbishop started to reply but a ghostly pale figure with dark purple hair styled in dreadlocks stepped out from behind the Archbishop’s chair. He was shrouded in a robe that was so black that it seemed to consume any light that touched it. It was decorated with dancing skeletons on its hems, linked skeletal hands were around the arm holes. He spoke in a soft yet firm voice.

“Greetings ephemerals, it is I, Death,” the figure stated. Striking a pose, he placed one hand on a hip, raised the other above his head, and in a comically dramatic fashion looked down his nose at Jerome and his family.

“Please, please,” he said, lowering the harm he had raised and waving it back and forth, “No begging or cowering in fear, for on this day, I am not here to collect any of your souls. While young Feratu most certainly could help the lass, in my not-so-humble opinion, I think I might be better at it.” When he had finished speaking, he sat on a chair that a wraith, which emerged from his cloak, placed for him.

Alessandra wriggled out of his arms, ran up to the God, and innocently stated, “You’re weird.

”The wraith poked its head back out and screeched in agreement with Alessandra. Death pushed the wraith back into his robe while saying, “You be quite, Robert, no one asked for your opinion.”

Alessandra giggled, and Jerome understood what Death was doing; by acting silly, Alessandra would be at ease with him much quicker than if he took an Educator’s attitude with her.

Death spoke again, “Now, before you stuffy old ones leave me with this charming young girl for our private chat, I have one more thing to do.” He reached a hand and made a come hither motion, and Alessandra’s knife, which Jerome had forgotten about, appeared in it. “Just what are you doing here?”

The knife screeched like a million dammed souls in the 13th hell, and everyone but Death and Alessandra fell to their knees with their ears bleeding. Death smacked the knife, and stared at Alessandra. He shook his head and returned his attention to the knife. “No need to yell I asked a simple question.”

The knife screeched more quietly.

“I see,” Death replied, “Well there is no helping it I guess, back you go then, but do come home soon.”