> "I admit, she died in my arms. I deny responsibility. The fault is yours, Rykard." – Letters of Admission, Letter 1.
It was evening. Elena sat on the sofa reading while her brother drew stick figures and watched tv. He had been at this for almost an hour, changing the channel when he become bored with the channel's offerings, and then drawing again. Elena mostly thought to herself and read. She, spent the last few hours watching him, and reading from her book on myths, legends, and the history of La Viajar. A smile spread across her face as she read: a welcome distraction from reality.
The news continued, shifting scenes in a small, graying blackbox of a television. The commentators' voices intruded once more on her senses, begging to be heard. Her attention to the screen. “We’re here on the five o’clock slot with Father Arnold Brasher. Tell us, Father, is the church any closer to healing the sick?”
The news anchor, a small, blonde woman in a tan dress suit, sat beside a white-robed man with a golden sun, the symbol of the church, strung around his neck. His wrinkles and greyed hair, when paired with his soft voice, spoke of his lifelong practice as a member of the church. They sat on a small stage, microphones before them, pale blues and whites painted on the walls behind them, to signify the sky and clouds, “the first children of the Sun,” as the story goes.
“No, Rebecca,” he answered without hesitation. He shifted his weight and raised his arms as if to highlight his next point. “We fail in this endeavor because She prevents us. Death prevents us in many things, eternal life, and healing being among them. She induces suffering, disease, and the breaking of the body and spirit.” Laying his arms down, he shook his head. “Life Himself can only do so much. Progress is being made, but we have only been able to heal a few scrapes without issue, sadly.” His wizened voice continued, speaking on the virtues of life, and the inherent evil of death. They then went on to discuss the full moon, the sign of the Necromancer’s return.
Elena had heard it all before, and wasn’t in the mood.
Her parents had emphasized the important teachings of Life, the vices of Death, and the holy scripture for twenty years; it didn’t stick. She was more interest in history, myth, and legends. Her family held to older, fundamentalist traditions, ones where the dead, no matter how they spoke to the living, could not be trusted. It didn’t matter if they were alive when they wrote something down. The only exception in her family’s denomination, and what she currently read, was the originating myth. The defeat of the Necromancer at the hands of Sol had marked the beginning of a global religion, with just as many denominations as there are leaves on a tree. Everyone knew the story. The original “good triumphs over evil,” and yet, there seemed to be something pulling at Elena’s heart. She empathized with the necromancer, who had killed his only friend.
Not ten feet from her, the lock turned in the doorknob. Elena jumped, then stiffened. She knew who it was. Shoving the book down between the cushion and the pillow at her side, she focused on the television. Her brother, James, still drew with the same fascination, scribbling across the page in garish colors. He looked up as the door opened and said, “Hi, Daddy,” just as Elena said, “Hi, dad.”
Her father gave the room a glance. Everything was in place. No trash on the floor, the coffee table cleared off, save for James’ papers and crayons. The television blared parentally-approved programming. No cartoons. Nothing Sinful here.
Turning, he placed his coat on the hook and threw his keys into the crystal dish on the table by the door. His eyes held no kindness, only “strictness” as he called it, with a large body to back it up. He noted the empty kitchen the same way he noted the living room. Setting his jaw and grinding his teeth, he stormed in to the master bedroom and began yelling at Elena and James’ sleeping mother.
It went on for an hour. Through the living room wall, Elena heard the screaming, the “I expect food to be ready when I get home,” the rebuttals that the alarm hadn’t gone off. Her fathers’ words struck hardest. “Lazy bitch.”, “No respect.” James continued to draw, focusing on his art and the television playing religious sermons with the pastor roaring to a crowd, “covet not your neighbors being, in spirit alone are we pure.” As the beating continued, James continued drawing as if nothing was wrong, not even when the whimpering began.
Elena couldn’t take it anymore. She knew she’d be next if he even thought she did anything. Better to leave now than be a victim to it. She’d gone out before when he got like this, but never this late. He usually only grounded her in response or yelled. Better than being beaten, she thought. Elena slipped on her shoes and put on her jacket. They were still yelling. She kissed James and told him she’d be back later. She opened the door quietly and exited into the cool night air of the Deuda.
From the second floor of the apartment complex she called home, cool air drifted in from El Viajar proper, and into its twin city, the Deuda. From her vantage, she could see the perfect line of glass and steel reach against the sky as it cut El Viajar in two, shining against the fading light. Poorer than it’s more extravagant brother with its never ending light, the Deuda lays close to the ground, like a shadow to the light. Few new buildings, cracked roads and sidewalks, but it, despite it all, was her home.
Taking another breath, she hurried down the steps leading towards the first floor, the shouting growing louder before stopping completely. Whether they had stopped fighting, or distance brought ignorance, she didnt care. When she did reach the landing, Elena gave a quick glance back. She said sorry to her brother for leaving him there, but it’s not like she’d be gone for long, and their father never hit James. He loved James.
Lights began turning on throughout the street. Cars pulled into the parking lot, families brought in groceries to this old, rundown complex. Elena looked upon all of them with envy, sadness, and a hint of guilt. She shouldn’t feel envious, or really sad that she didn’t have those things. She knew that, and yet, her chest tightened at the site of happy parents, nice clothes, and smiles.
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Walking through the darkening streets, she heard the words of her family and the church in her head. While she didn’t want to listen to the Sun Church doctrine, she still knew that coveting the possessions of others, even their emotions, was sinful – it was the first, and most important command given by Inheritor Rykard. As she walked, farther and farther away from the complex, more reminders of how she failed her parents, their god, and herself festered in her mind. She struggled to suppress memories she would rather forget. I’m like a disease, she thought.
The winding streets snaked out before her, leading deeper into the Deuda, farther away from the steel and glass wall towards the hills. Negative thoughts continued to grow with every step, welling inside her chest the deeper the night grew. She failed to push them away, to hold them down, to enjoy her moment of freedom.
Street lights switched on, and the sweet smell of wet grass calmed her senses. The water, the grass, the trees, and even the dirt smelled divine. She acknowledged that her father was likely, almost literally, insane. The other members of our church are the same. Does that make them all crazy? She cherished the thought. The idea that the entire congregation that shunned and hated her, that they were all insane, that shunned and hated her, that they were all insane, it brought visceral joy.
A wicked smile spread across her face. The houses on either side of her didn't smile back, and their shadowed faces remained stoic and unfeeling. She sighed, then remembered her brother, and how the entire church loved him, even as he floundered and failed. They gave him chances. They gave so many people chances. They loved fellow believers, almost to a fault. I believe, too.
The night air deepened in flavor, becoming colder, and wetter, as the wind grew heavier through the streets. The further she walked, the stronger the memory of her mistake became, the day she admitted she felt bad for the necromancer. The church cared for their fellows, why not care for someone being used by Death Herself? White walls, blue carpet, wood tables. Their eyes turned on her in that sterile, unfeeling room. At that moment, they knew she was loathsome. They hated her for feeling sorrow for an agent of evil.
Turning into her old neighborhood, Elena found a park she used to go to as a child. It wasn’t much, little more than an old churchyard with a small playground attached to it. She sat on the iron bench, and pulled her knees to her chest. The smell of wet grass was strongest here. Good memories drifted in, memories of being happy, belonging with her parents. The night made the scent of soil strong.
Down the path many homeless knelt beside the stained glass windows depicting the sun, and Rykard slaying the Necromancer. They all wore multiple jackets, and some had their heads wrapped, despite it not being fall quite yet. Elena couldn’t hear their prayers, but it was clear that they all wanted salvation. Death cursed us all. Being homeless is like being alive and dead at the same time, unable to move on and unable to progress the longer you stay.
She looked up to the sky, and for the first time in her life, truly saw the moon. As a kid, and until a few months ago, the moon was merely a white circle with black center. Sometimes it would be half a circle, sometimes even less. Now, however, she saw a pure white disk in the sky, glowing brightly, gently, against the stars. Elena had been warned about this, that whenever the Necromancer comes back, he’ll bring Her power with him, turning the moon an unholy sight. Elena found it beautiful, another sign of her nature. I don’t want to go home.
Elena pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, taking in the sweet scents drifting in on the cool air. Of all the places in the Deuda, the churches remained clean, unsullied. Footsteps sounded closer, Elena tensed, expecting a homeless man to be on his way, ready to assault her. Instead, a deep, nearly monotone voice spoke out. “Young lady, it’s past time for you to be out. If you’re able, head home.” He turned to look at the homeless still praying, “I wouldn’t recommend staying out, at least not here.”
He wore a heavy jacket, boots, and had a star pinned to his jacket, the symbol of the police department. “I’ll go home. I guess I lost track of time.” He gave her a nod, then continued.
“See that you do. There’s more homeless, especially in this part of town.” He squinted at the homeless, as if trying to pick something out from amongst them. When he couldn’t, he again looked to Elena. “Here,” he fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “Names Nahual, I perform the nightly patrol in sections of the city. If you ever need help, or if you see something weird, give me a call.”
Elena nodded wordlessly, staring at the card in her hand, then back to Nahual. He gave her a sad look. “My daughter would be about your age now, please take care of yourself. Stay out of trouble.” Nahual turned, and left back to his car. As he pulled out, Elena placed the card in her pocket, not really sure if she would use it. A bitter knot held on her insides, even he wishes I was someone else.
Elena continued to think, and seep into her thoughts. She recalled the times she tried to end her life, where she’d either fail or be stopped by her parents or members of the church. “Life is sacred. Do not give in to Death. Do not give in to Sin.” Their words played in her mind over and over again. Knife cuts, pills, hanging, all failed or thwarted. But, the bridge.
When she was sure he was gone, she stood, and began walking again. She didn’t walk towards home. She crossed the street towards another neighborhood that lead up towards the city walls. As she touched the crosswalk, a black cat walked besides her, meowing up at her. Once on the other side of the street, the pure piece of night itself rubbed against her leg. As Elena knelt down to pet the little void, it ran off down the street, far away from her.
Past dusk, far past her home, she felt alone. People joked on their porches in the deep blues and oranges of the night. Darkness fell on every inch of the street and homes, blocked only by the faint lights of the street lights. Out in the dark, the black cat wandered nearby in the bushes and trees. Laughter sung out, televisions sounded – she could see them. More anger, more sadness, and more heart turning guilt pulled at her. “Why do I have to care about a single person who killed his best, his only friend?”
She turned, past this neighborhood. Towards the end of the street, up a short hill, one of the many stone bridges remained, one that led out into the hills beyond the city. As she walked, the night finally deepened to a rich black, and consumed her. “Why do I have to care about someone who no one else cares about,” she spoke aloud. “Why do I have to care about someone who had no friends, who had no one?” She continued on, the hill tiring her, taking away her breath and the strength in her legs.
“Why does no one care about me?”
She finally made it to the stone bridge, the wind, now a gentle breathing against her long, black hair. Pulling up her hood, she remembered the plan she had all those years ago as a small girl, before her family talked her out of it, before the church’s intervention. In the middle of the bridge, looking down into the abyss, she remembered what she felt that day, what she feels today. She couldn’t go home, not really. Her father would get mad again, and then beat her and her mom. Then they’ll go to church, and act like everything is fine. “It’ll never by fine. It’ll never go away.”
Gripping the sides of the eroded rock she lifted herself up. She didn’t dare open her eyes, or else she’d be too afraid. Maybe she’d live, maybe she’d be in pain, but living was for the wicked, her church and her family proved it. Taking a deep breath, and a small forward lean, she openly embraced death, falling into the dried river that once separated the Deuda and the surrounding hills. The smell of the night filled her lungs one last time.
The slight dampness of the soil entered her lungs before they were crushed under the impact of her fall. Cold began invading her body as her warmth leaked from it. Her eyes flickered open towards the full moon, taking in the symbol of Death Herself, still in sharp opposition to His Sun. A single, ragged breath escaped her lips, the eternal sleep began to take her.
Death and peace were hers to claim. Elena wanted to let go, but death welcomed her too slowly. Barely able to keep her eyes open, a figure in a black cloak knelt beside her and placed a single hand upon her chest. Through the dark, Elena saw his pale, boney features. The chill grew within her body, begging to take her from life, but it calmed within her, coiling around her heart, settling deeply within her. Still unable to move, she watched through half closed eyes as the hooded figure returned to a standing position, the bones wrung about his neck clacked against each other, the tattered pieces of cloth making up his cloak barely holding together. He continued to walk through the dried riverbed.
Instead of death, sleep begged to take her. Her breathing steadied, her ribs cracked neatly back into place. As sleep took her, the night was no longer cold.