Coral and Pearl stood back from the crowd gathered before the cemetery gates, accompanied by Crowcaller and Elwin. The Direwood cemetery was as grey and dreary as the rest of the town. Ten-foot-high iron fencing barricaded the town from the gravestones. The grave markers were fractured and cracked. A few stone mausoleums stood out from the swathes of tombstones, each of these battered and the fine carvings had weathered away. Or blasted off, by the look of one crypt.
Silas and the other Adventurer’s hadn’t returned. In the late hour of the day, Coral was beginning to wonder if she should be concerned or not. Crowcaller had greeted Coral and Pearl in the guild’s library, and she didn’t appear to be concerned. She didn’t comment on Silas’s absence at all. So it was with gratitude that Coral and Pearl joined Crowcaller’s invitation to the funeral this afternoon.
While it was normal for friends, family and acquaintances to attend funeral processions and ceremonies in the city, in smaller towns everyone was expected to attend whether you liked the deceased or not.
A small community required a synergy. A give and take system, where those who needed help were assisted by neighbours. It was how a town kept the elderly warm and fed when they grew too stiff in the cold months to move about. In return the elders offered their advice, recipes, and other skills they were still able bodied to do. This was how a poor family kept clothes on their children from the generosity of the locals. It was how petty theft was kept down when resources became scarce. It was how the moral of a community was kept alive in the face of adversity. A small town thrived from a union between every single person based on respect and generosity.
In such a community, to snub someone’s death was to sow discord among your neighbours. This act alone was more than rude, it was one’s downfall. The person who did the snubbing is in turn treated like the town’s pariah. Often finding themselves unable to trade without being charged ridiculous prices, were underpaid for their work and in general ostracised to the point that they leave town for good. Who would want to deal with someone who couldn’t even have the courtesy to show some respect for the dead?
Of course, there was always exceptions, such as Silas and his group who were still on their mission to deal with the Ghoul. Those who were needed elsewhere for important tasks were permitted socially to not attend.
Coral and Pearl weren’t known well amongst Direwoods community. They weren’t expected at this point to participate in providing assistance, but it would have been terrible if neither Coral nor Pearl showed up for the funeral being held today. Their absence would not have gone unnoticed. One day they would have to help out, whether that be provide shelter with their enormous manor or in general help with keeping the old from freezing.
There was a general hum of low voices from the gathered people, clustered around the cemeteries entrance. Some people stood silently, their heads bowed and not meeting anyone’s eyes. Coral recognised one man from last night. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and there was a forming bruise at the edge of his jaw. The same people he had chosen to fight stood clustered around him, one resting a hand on his trembling shoulders. Others openly wept.
Coral and Pearl kept their hands clasped before them, unable to do more than stand alongside Direwood’s townfolk to show their respect. Coral had seen the double takes and staring at her face, followed by whispers to their neighbour, who then glanced her way.
Coral was definitely going to take a trip to the Widow’s Poison after this. She was going to buy that balm Doctor Thornheart had mentioned and slather it on so thick she won’t be able to open her eyes. Hopefully that would speed up the healing process. At least some of the swelling was, infinitesimally, reducing.
There was a clatter of hooves, and Coral turned in time to see an ornate carriage drawn by four white horses along the cobblestone road. While there had been those who had arrived by horse, not many arrived by carriage.
The horses’ coats gleamed like pearls in the late afternoon sun, each with a fine leather harness. Affixed to each of the headpieces was polished hematite, shaped into a spiralling horn. This made the horses look akin to unicorns, with their bowed necks and prancing long legs. The arrival of this carriage caused the people to quieten their murmurings, drawing their attention as it drew closer.
The coachman pulled the carriage up along the road and stepped down hurriedly. He produced a large black parasol and held it above the windowless carriage door so that it cast a deep shadow. A moment later the carriage door swung open, and a man stepped out of the carriage. He wore a dark grey top hat, his snow-white hair tied back with a black ribbon and draped over one shoulder. When he straitened beneath the parasol, he took it from the coachman and waited before moving until another black parasol could be replaced.
The man wore a fine dark grey tailcoat, which was a wise choice, as black would have made his already pale complexion corpse like. His waistcoat and trousers weren’t embellished with needlework and had gone with a lighter grey than of his tailcoat. Though he wore a simple design, the fabric and cut were of immaculate quality. From the lapel tucked inside his coat was a string of black jet stones.
“Octavian Acheron,” Crowcaller said under her breath. She didn’t particularly sound happy at his arrival.
Octavian Acheron, aside from his fine clothing, had a beautiful androgynous face with high cheekbones. The resemblance to Caspian was there in the cut of his jaw and nose. He did not look old, which for vampires was usual, though he didn’t look old enough to be Caspian’s father. Perhaps older brother? It was always hard to tell with vampires.
From behind Octavian, a woman stepped out of the carriage. Her fine, dark grey dress spilled from the carriage; a delicate, gloved hand braced by the coachman as she descended the step down. She too was as fair as Octavian, her hair a lustrous auburn and pinned back in a hairnet with polished jet stones.
Both of their gazes were sharp and calculating, their eyes a deep blood red. They nodded in greeting to the gathered people around them, slowly making their way forward to the cemetery gates under the cover of their parasols from the sun.
Caspian emerged with his own parasol, his eyes searching the crowd. He too wore an immaculate black suit, decorated with a jet brooch and light grey vest. His attire made him appear more approachable than the coldness that emanated from Octavian and his lady.
Caspian stood to one side and waited as another woman emerged from the carriage. She did not require a parasol. In fact, there was a rich olive hue to her skin and her thick black hair was coiled up into a bun. She wore three strands of jet stones about her neck. Her black dress was simple too, though hers matched Caspian’s as it was trimmed with light grey. In many ways, she was more stunning than the woman walking beside Octavian Acheron.
In Coral’s opinion, at the very least, she thought the flush of colour to Caspian’s companion was more lovely compared to the vampire’s pallor. Coral appreciated more colour in whomever she would choose to be her lifelong partner.
Pearl became very still and fixed her eyes on the woman. “Who is that?” She asked in a quiet voice.
Coral’s heart hurt for her sister. While she had expected Caspian to continue his courtship of Pearl for longer, if he did return, Coral hadn’t thought him daring enough to attend a town event with another woman. If Caspian thought Pearl to be a simpering maiden that accepted anything less than she deserved, this man had lost another plaything. Pearl was gentle, but that didn’t mean that she was going to put up with stupid men that strung her along.
Luckily, Pearl also had a sensible sister. Coral would make sure Pearl didn’t fall prey to Caspian’s games.
Caspian may had saved them, and he didn’t like to think of himself as a monster. If Caspian wasn’t draining people of their blood, then he’d be breaking another’s heart. Which was monstrous.
Coral and Pearl were at the back of the crowd, so they went unseen. Which in part was a relief, as the look of hurt across Pearl’s face was painful to see.
Coral looped her sister’s arm through her own and gave her a gentle squeeze. A silent promise that she’ll kick Caspian in the shins the next time she could get away with it. And perhaps burn his suit too. She’d find a way to bring retribution to Pearl one way or another.
In the meantime, there was chocolate and wine they could both soothe their souls with.
Pearl looked down at her dress, looking forlorn. They were both dressed in the same clothes that they came to town in the day before. They hadn’t brought a change of clothes with them, being too tired to really consider that they would need it.
“Look at me, I’m atrociously dressed,” Pearl said, plucking at her pale blue skirt. In truth, Pearl didn’t look bad, though she rarely had worn dresses that were so simple. She did look comfortable.
“You look lovely,” Crowcaller reassured her. “Don’t mind them. I don’t think they’ve ever worn anything less than fine silks and underwear made of spun gold.”
“Everyone else here is in their best,” Pearl pointed out. The townsfolk were wearing their best clothes, though when Octavian Acheron walked past in his finery, they looked shabby in comparison. Even Crowcaller and Elwin had polished their boots and their Guild uniforms were immaculate.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“No one is judging you for your clothes. We judge by character here,” Elwin said with an edge to his voice as his eyes landed on Octavian Acheron.
“Quiet, Elwin.” Crowcaller warned from the corner of her mouth. “We don’t want to start anything.”
A bell tolled the late afternoon hour from somewhere that Coral could not pinpoint. Its sorrowful toll was the signal that everyone had been waiting for. The gate to the cemetery swung open. Slowly, the crowd entered the cemetery, pausing briefly by the two statues that faced the inner part of the cemetery grounds, as tall as the iron fencing that encircled the entire area. It was unusual to see such high, reinforced fencing. Even the spokes at the top were sharp points, the lower half of the barricade a cobbled stone.
When it was time for Coral and Pearl to enter through the gates, they had copied the others as they entered. Every person had collected a raw chunk of black crystal from the stone basin kept by the statue’s feet.
On closer inspection, the crystals were a combination of protective energy stones. Black tourmaline, Black moonstone, obsidian, jet, onyx, hematite and black kyanite. These stones emitted a barrier around the wearer to protect them from spirits. Each stone or crystal had other properties that helped the wearer too, such as drawing out negative energies or heal emotionally and physically. Coral picked out a black kyanite chunk, then held it to her heart to allow time for the stone to attune itself to her. Coral looked up at the statue and was surprised that instead of a gargoyle to protect the dead, like most cemeteries had, the cloaked figure before her was a robed Soul Harvester. Its scythe held aloft as though it were about to sweep it forward and harvest her soul.
The Soul Harvester was rarely used for cemeteries. It goes without saying however that most cemeteries didn’t have a yearly problem of having to bury the same Uncle or cousin. The Soul Harvester’s were primarily a symbol of the devastation war has, sweeping lives away before them with their scythes. They were used in war memorials and featured as figure heads to watch over dangerous places, in the hopes that any wandering spirit that see’s the Soul Harvester would be deterred by it. A ghost didn’t want to leave, or in this case be harvested, until its business had concluded.
Coral looked over at Pearl, who stood before the other statue with her head bowed and cupped her own raw chunk of crystal to her heart. The Soul Harvester she stood before was chipped and gouged in places. Beneath the carved hood of its robe, the blank mask that covered the Soul Harvester’s face was barely distinguishable. Its own scythe was facing down before it, as though it had just sliced it through the air and taken a soul. Whomever had carved these statues had captured such a lifelike quality to them, that Coral felt if she watched long enough, she would see them move.
Crowcaller and Elwin were one of the last few people to enter the cemetery. Crowcaller took her time to select a stone, whereas Elwin hadn’t even looked as he dug his fingers into the crystals and plucked out whichever stone.
Coral was familiar with the custom of wearing a protective black stone or crystal when attending a funeral, she hadn’t expected to be provided with a piece on entering. She said as much, when Crowcaller had finished, and pocketed her stone.
“Never go deeper into the cemetery without a black crystal. The dead are restless here, and while they don’t rise until the Night of the Undead, their spirits tend to dwell in the grounds. The cemetery grounds can be dangerous,” she explained.
“The cemetery is haunted?” Pearl asked, looking around at the mass graves.
“All cemeteries are haunted,” Crowcaller said, her eyes lightening up.
Pearl had never been one to believe in ghost stories. Burials were all about laying the dead to rest and to move on. Now, her mouth was set in a grim line as she glanced about, her eyes darting back towards Coral.
Coral pretended she couldn’t see Pearl looking at her bruised face, and instead focused on looking out at the grounds. It spread across to the other side of the river with a narrow stone bridge that connected each side. There were only a few trees, and none of the usual kept garden beds, though some graves did have emerging greenery from the ground with buds forming.
They followed along behind the crowd, slowly making their way over the bridge. As the arched stone bridge was quite narrow, only allowing two people to cross comfortably side by side, there was a queue forming. It gave Coral ample time to read the tombstones as she passed them.
Most had nothing written on them. Just a simple flat stone protruding from the earth as a marker that someone lay beneath. Other gravestones were carved with messages as ‘Can’t take my socks now, Frederick,’ and ‘Went swimming in the Dire River, fell victim to a shiver.’
“Why are there so many unnamed headstones?” Pearl asked. She was examining a crumbling stone that looked like it had been hit by lightning.
“When the Night of the Undead ends, we’re left with the remains scattered everywhere. If the body has disintegrated to the point that their just bones, it’s hard to know who is who,” Crowcaller explained.
“We tie them with a bit of something to identify who they were,” Elwin said. He was waiting behind them, his arms crossed as he was looking out over towards a churned-up area. The ground was lumpy and barren over at that section, with a large gravestone with a message Coral could not read from this distance.
“That’s where we put all the bodies we can’t identify. Once the Adventurer’s are done hacking them to bits. Arms, legs, heads. Any bit left lying around all goes into that mass grave over there.”
“Doesn’t that upset anyone?” Pearl asked, her eyes round. She gave the choppy ground a cautionary glance.
“Yes. We used to let families try to identify their loved ones, but that made things harder. People fighting over body pieces. All for it to happen again next year. It drove me mad. Now, if a grave goes empty, their name is added to the gravestone over there.” Crowcaller pointed out the gravestone at the head of the mass grave. “And whatever piece that can’t be matched up goes in there.”
“That’s a lot of names,” Pearl said. “The cemetery is so full.”
That was an understatement. There was scarcely room for them to walk through without stepping on someone’s grave. For the first time, Coral really understood why the Night of the Undead was an event that drew adventurers to Direwood. This was just one part of the cemetery. When the dead rise at midwinter, how many would there be?
Did animals reanimate too? Coral didn’t think she could stand having dead rats scuttling throughout her house. Disgusting. Maybe she too would get into the spirit of the night and clobber a few of those if she needed to.
What self-respecting woman wanted festering corpses flitting through her walls. Coral gave an involuntary shiver. The smell would be horrendous.
“Are You alright?” Crowcaller asked, looking over at Coral.
“I’m not fond of dead things,” Coral told her.
“I thought for a moment you were being harassed by ghosts again,” Crowcaller said with a grin.
It was their turn to cross the bridge. Elwin let Coral and Pearl step out onto the bridge behind a burly man that resembled a bear, who was so broad he had taken up the entire width. Coral stepped slowly behind the man and had a moment to look over the side, back towards the mountain range and somewhere in the distance, Moonflower Inn. Coral couldn’t see her manor from here, but she felt a pull towards it. Like it was calling for her to return.
The Dire River rushed beneath the bridge, the flow of water swift and burbling. This part of the river flowed through the cemetery and down towards the rest of town. This river must have been quite deep, as river boats used it to bring goods to the town.
There was a boat now that came down the river, their wares hidden in crates that were covered with tarps. There were a few men who were clustered around a large cage, with a small animal with wings that buffeted its body against the bars. Coral watched a moment as they threw a rope over the rocking cage and secured it. The animal made an odd noise that sounded like a chirping cat. Then she caught a flash of a black, long tail. Coral leant closer to the edge of the bridge to get a closer look, her hands clasping around the iron spokes that caged her in the cemetery grounds. The creature moved again, and Coral gasped.
It was a dragon. Coral was certain of it. It was too far away to see any real detail, but she had seen the flicker of wings.
“Pearl look,” Coral said, reaching for her sister.
Pearl stepped up beside Coral and squinted between the bars. “What is it?”
“They’ve got a dragon. Don’t get too excited though. It’s probably extra stock or something. I wouldn’t mind one, it’ll keep me nice and warm outside,” Elwin said, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
Crowcaller looked over at the boat, then said “Dragon’s are a hassle to look after. I’ve watched riders and handler’s deal with the King’s dragons, and I can tell you that dragons are too smart for their own good.”
“What were they like?” Pearl asked curious.
“Obnoxious and egotistical,” Crowcaller answered.
Pearl pulled away from the bars to look at Crowcaller. It could not be clearer that Crowcaller was not interested in Dragons.
“How can dragons be egotistical?” Pearl asked.
“Oh, no. Their riders and handlers are. The dragons were fine,” Crowcaller said.
Coral and Pearl stepped forward, not wanting to be left behind. She could see that the town’s folk were crammed into the other side of the cemetery, clustered around three freshly dug holes that had been piled high with logs and straw. The pyres already had bodies set atop of them.
From this vantage point, Coral could just make out Doctor Thornheart in the crowd, standing with the families that had lost one of their own.
Coral hadn’t been expecting funeral pyres, not in a cemetery. The dead peppered the ground beneath their feet. Why would they need to burn the bodies rather than bury them?
Elwin must have seen the look of confusion on her face, for he leant over and quietly murmured to Coral and Pearl. “We don’t bury anyone here unless we have no choice. It hurts too much to find the bodies of loved one’s roaming about and having to re-bury them all over again.”
Now that Elwin had said it, Coral did note that she hadn’t seen any newer tombstones. Everything here was old and battered.
“When did you stop burying people?” Coral asked.
“A few years now. Since before I was born. I think we’ve only ever actually buried someone in here about three or four times. That was because we didn’t have a choice. Sometimes it rains for weeks.”
A gravestone had caught Coral’s eye that read ‘Arnold Chuck, pecked to death by his beloved chickens’. There were no dates for his lifespan. The stone was weathered and had clusters of fungus growing across the surface.
It made her wonder what Direwood village would put on her gravestone. Perhaps ‘Indulged in cheese and wine too much’. Or perhaps, as Orvil Norwood had apparently said, ‘The scurge on Direwood’.
It had an oddly nice ring to it. Coral could get behind an ominous message on her gravestone.
Though she didn’t fancy the idea of Pearl having to replant her back in the ground each year, possibly missing a limb or two until there was nothing else left to lose.
“Do the undead drag themselves by the teeth if they haven’t any limbs?” Coral asked curiously.
Pearl gasped and looked askance at Coral. But it was Crowcaller’s simple “Yes,” that prevented Pearl from trying to reprimand Coral’s rudeness.
“They do?” Pearl said. She took a step further away from the tombstones she stood close to. It didn’t really help, as there were graves on all sides. Pearl stood dead centre in the path, pressing her arms to either side of her body in an attempt to not touch anything either.
“Every part of a reanimated body that can move, will crawl,” Crowcaller said.
“Wait until you see your first severed foot use it’s toes to pull itself around,” Elwin said enthusiastically, as though there was no finer entertainment.