Corvan flipped the shroud back over Morgan’s face. Without the antidote, the poison pill had killed the man.

“Hurry up, Kalian,” Jorad hissed from his position up front between the poles. Corvan grunted as he lifted Morgan’s litter. No wonder the soldiers had complained; Morgan was all muscle.

Jorad pulled him quickly through the smaller broken gate but they had a hard time keeping up with the soldiers. Corvan fell into a trot, mesmerized by the scene around him. If the city of the dead was any indication, the city it was modeled after must have been amazing in its day. Each miniature structure was ornately carved from white stone and adorned with tarnished metal trims. For the first time in his life, Corvan was a giant, walking the streets of a city seemingly built for people a quarter his size.

“Jorad,” Corvan whispered, “are each of these little buildings a grave?”

“Yes,” Jorad replied over his shoulder as he slowed down. He was breathing harder. “Our people refuse to be buried in a hole that could fill with water, so we build crypts above the ground.” Jorad’s subdued tone made his words difficult to hear. “The top of each crypt lifts off, the dead are placed inside, and then the airtight lid is fastened back down to contain the smell of decay. When the next person in the family dies, the bones of the first person are moved to a bottom compartment with their ancestors. Some wealthy families construct a separate crypt for each family member, and there are very large ones for our rulers.”

Corvan looked up a path that curved away from the main boulevard. “Why did they copy the layout of the main city?”

“Your crypt in the City of the Dead occupies the same place here as your home did in our city streets,” Jorad said. “To some it is an indication of your status while you were alive.”

“So, each one looks the same as their home in the city?”

Jorad shook his head. “Many people invested more energy into the creation of their tombs than their own homes. Many of the crypts are much more elaborate than the corresponding houses in the city, but they give you an idea of what Kadir looked like before the great destruction, when you could clearly see her beauty.”

“Kadir?”

“Yes, we have other small settlements in the outlying areas for our workers, but Kadir is our only city.”

They were approaching the small circular plaza that marked the center of the crypt city, but here, instead of a statue, an ancient tree stretched its gnarled branches toward the roof of the cavern. The tree trunk was split to the ground, as if struck by lightning. Pale leaves adorned the closest half of the shattered tree, while the other side was blackened and dead. Jorad stopped, and Corvan caught his balance against Morgan’s head.

As he pushed himself upright, he noticed they were alone. “Where are the soldiers?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Jorad asked in an irritated tone. “They just told us to wait here while they checked out a crypt.” He tugged the litter and Corvan to one side of the rounded plaza. “Let’s set the body on a bench while we wait.”

It was a relief to be free of Morgan’s dead weight. Shaking the cramps from his hands, Corvan crossed the tiled open area toward the half-dead tree.

Jorad joined him at the slender stone railing encircling the tree.

“Legend says it was here long before our people entered the Cor,” Jorad said. “The living side was much greener before our light began to fade.”

“In the real city, is this where circular plaza with the fountain statue is located? Corvan asked. “The one with the woman’s head broken off?”

“Yes, this marks the same spot. I’m not certain if our forefathers built the city of the dead around the tree or if they planted it here afterwards. Either way, it’s the only one of its kind in the Cor. As priests, we tell the people the half-dead tree symbolizes the choices we make in life before we arrive here.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Did the living side ever bear fruit?”

“No. But in the center of the great tapestry, there was a depiction of a living tree with many fruits on it. Maybe it was this one before it was injured.”

“Are the statues here a part of the legend?” Corvan asked.

“Statues?”

Corvan pointed to the other side of the tree. “The two gray statues of men watching the tree.”

Jorad peered past the split trunk. “It’s not the tree they’re looking at.” He stepped quickly back from the railing. “I hear the soldiers returning. Let’s pick up the litter so we’re ready to go. We don’t want any trouble.”

Corvan paused and was struck by something odd about the dirt around the living side of the tree. He leaned over the fence for a closer look. Radiating from the shattered tree trunk were neat lines of footprints made by a child’s bare feet.

“Kalian,” Jorad hissed, “quickly!”

No sooner had they picked up Morgan’s body than the captain and the two soldiers emerged from a street off to the left.

“But all the rest of his family is there,” the older soldier was saying. “Perhaps he was to be placed in his father’s crypt.”

“No.” The captain replied. “My orders were to find a large crypt with Morgan’s name on it. I bet he decided to build his own crypt in the plaza of the rulers.”

They marched away around the tree.

Jorad abruptly dropped his end of the litter on the bench with a thud and shoved Corvan away from the body. With trembling hands, he uncovered the dead man’s face. The shock on Jorad’s face instantly transformed into such intense anger that Corvan stepped back even farther. Jorad’s whole body trembled. His fists clenched, and his arm cocked as if to punch the dead body.

A sharp whistle from the captain shattered the tension. The man in black was waiting on the other side of the half-dead tree.

Shaking his head vigorously, Jorad returned to the front of the stretcher and yanked it off the bench with such force that Corvan had to dive to grab the poles. He stumbled along after Jorad as the priest towed him toward the soldiers.

The captain led them around the tree and directly up a wide street across from where they had entered. They passed between the two gray statues on either side of the entrance. The unblinking gray eyes appeared to follow Corvan’s every move.

The street was now lined with larger tombs. It seemed to Corvan that in this replica city they were heading directly toward the location of the stepped plaza in front of the palace. Sure enough, a few streets later, a walled area appeared before them, and beyond its gate, an open courtyard filled with grand tombs. Pointed roofs to the left, flat roofs to the right.

Jorad stopped beside the soldiers and looked up in silence. Corvan followed his gaze to the largest crypt he had seen. It was built against the outer wall of the city precisely place where a replica of the huge statue should have stood. The door on the crypt was large enough for a man to walk into without stooping. Ornate letters were carved into the stone above the entrance.

“Typical Morgan,” the younger soldier said dryly.

“There used to be two or three crypts here belonging to the ruling families,” the captain exclaimed.

“Yes, and they have all been destroyed to make room for Morgan’s tomb,” the older soldier replied. “Look, you can see how they used the stones from the previous crypts to build his new one. There’s a stone in the corner that still has part of someone’s name cut into it.”

The captain stomped over to the litter and addressed the shrouded face. “You were always working your way closer to the Chief Watcher. I suppose you thought you’d someday become the ruler of all the Cor.”

The captain raised a hand, and Corvan wondered if he too wished to strike the dead man. Instead, he shoved the body away, almost knocking Corvan to the ground. “I refuse to dignify the memory of this man by putting his remains in this tomb.”

“Then let us use one of the pauper’s crypts,” Jorad suggested in his disguised voice. “A tomb without a name for one who erased the names of others.”

“Done.” The captain turned from the ornate mausoleum and marched to the courtyard gate. The soldiers and litter bearers had to run to keep up with him. Soon Corvan was so out of breath he thought he would drop in his tracks.

At the tree, the captain turned down another street and then took a narrow track strewn with rocks. “Put him in there.” He pointed to a large, plain box that rose sloppily from the ground. “A pauper’s burial for the man who would be our king.”

He turned to his soldiers. “Seal him up and then get yourselves back to the palace. I have no more time for this nonsense.” He pushed past them in the narrow passage, bumping into the litter and knocking Corvan off his feet.

Corvan fell backward against a low crypt, and the body slid out from under the shroud and thumped softly up against his chest.

As Corvan stared down at Morgan’s face, the man’s eyes twitched and slowly opened. The pupils tilted back to focus on Corvan’s face.