Outsiders 9.1

The Memory of the Dead, Part 1

Many cultures on Asher had an autumn holiday connected in some way to the departed. But where Corsar had the Hallowing, the day Saint Vax gathered up all the lost souls in the land and shepherded them to the afterlife, Xykesh had Threshart.

According to local tradition, today was the day when the gap between the world of the living and the dead was at its thinnest, and the dead could receive messages from the living. It was marked by a number of customs centered around remembering the dead and cherishing the living.

Aurelia would have found it all so fascinating, the unique differences between Xykesh's traditions and other parts of the world. She could have spent ages tracing the origins of the specific customs, sorting through what had come from which parts of Asher. She would have loved it here.

She loves it here, Arden mentally corrected. Aurelia was still alive. She had to be.

The priest took a break from writing in his field journal to examine the small silver badge normally present on his lapel. A badge embossed with the symbol of an eye with a spiral iris.

The very first day he and Valerie had arrived on the shores of Xykesh, sopping wet from rain and bodies aching from rowing through the storms, Arden had used a prayer to seek out Aurelia's soul with his own and establish a link. After so long, and so many tries to use it back in Corsar, he had braced for the worst.

But he had felt her. She was here, and she was alive. The elation from that moment nearly drowned him all over again, right there on the beach. He'd called out to her with his mind, asked her where she was, if she was alright. 

He'd gotten no response.

He still hadn't, in all the times he tried since. It was not for lack of connection. He could feel her, every time. He could never mistake the touch of her soul, the feeling of simple bliss and wonder, for anything else. But she never responded to him. No matter what he said, what he asked. Nothing.

It was worse in some ways, knowing she was out there somewhere, but being unable to find her. Unable to determine what was wrong, keeping them apart even now.

He cast the prayer again anyway. Because maybe this time, it would work. And even if it didn't, it still helped to feel her again.

The Scaled Maiden was decorated for Threshart, adorned with paper lanterns, shimmering orange and black banners, and a prominent shrine in the back of the bar dedicated to the late Diyah Septis. All day, the kitchen sold almost nothing but "ghost buns" which appeared to Valerie to just be sweet, steamed buns with good marketing, but which tasted so good she immediately understood the appeal even without the cultural significance to back them up.

When List had explained Threshart to Valerie—in her usual flippant way that skimmed over all the details she found boring or unimportant—the monster huntress had been intrigued enough to ask Kiva and Egon for more details.

Though people spent most of the day in private observance, setting up shrines to the dearly departed and enjoying big meals with surviving family that always included ghost buns, the big communal tradition came in the evening, when everyone in town gathered at the cemetery, and flew paper lanterns to carry messages to their families and guide them back to the afterlife.

By the end of the explanation, Valerie knew she wanted to participate. With Kiva's help, she fashioned her own lantern for the evening's ceremony. 

"What about you?" Valerie asked List. "Are you making one?"

"For who?" List asked, tapping her temple. "One perk of amnesia. Nobody to miss."

Valerie wasn't sure she believed that. Not when everything she knew about List told her the hellborn hated everything about her amnesia. But she'd also learned, through extensive trial and error, not to press List on sore subjects. She would open up about it when she was ready.

"Come with me to the cemetery anyway?" Valerie asked.

List didn't miss the brief waver in her friend's voice, and any jokes or other sardonics died in her mouth.

"Of course."

And so with List at her side, Valerie joined the rest of Shadefall at the cemetery. Following Kiva's example, she carefully lit the candle within it, and gave the heat from the flame time to provide the needed lift. While she waited, she held the lantern close, and whispered to them.

"Hello Mother. Father. I want you to know that I'm doing well. Dr. Siren has been taking good care of me, and he's an excellent teacher. I think I'm becoming a Hunter you would have been proud of . . ."

Valerie faltered briefly, trying to think of what else to say. All around her, it seemed most people were still speaking into their lanterns. She tried to think what her parents would have wanted to hear from her, if she were writing to them from overseas. It was harder than she expected. She'd only been eight years old when they died.

She tried to imagine what she would want to hear from her daughter, if she had one, and found that easier. She hoped her parents cared about the same things she would. "The food here is amazing. I feel like I can eat from anywhere in the world just on this island. I’m usually studying or training when we’re not hunting, but sometimes I find time to read for fun. And I've made some real friends. You'd like List. Or, maybe you wouldn't, actually."

Behind her, List raised an eyebrow.

"But I like her," Valerie quickly added. A dull, bittersweet ache filled her chest. "I always wanted a sister. And now . . . I wish you could have met her. I wish . . . I wish you were here. But I'm doing well. I'm happy. I love you both so much."

Gently, Valerie released her lanterns into the sky, and watched the join the slowly growing mass of golden orange motes of light rising into the night. She kept track of her parents' lanterns as long as she could, watching them drift and bob in the evening breeze, until finally they became impossible to distinguish among a sea of so many others.

Intellectually, Valerie had questions about whether or not this practice actually worked. There was some debate over the exact fate of souls beyond this world, and in what ways, if any, they could interact with the living. But she wanted to believe that it worked, that her parents would hear her message. She pictured the smiles on their faces when they heard from her, the relief and pride that their daughter was happy, healthy, and growing up to be a fine lady. The image sank into her heart like a dagger, and tears streamed down her face.

List placed a hand on her shoulder, and the two of them stood in silence, watching the river of love and memories rise up from the town of Shadefall and paint a streak across the night sky.

It wasn't until many hours later, when Valerie was fast asleep, that List slipped out of their shared room at the Scaled Maiden, and out to Shadefall's cemetery. In her hands, she cradled a miniature paper lantern, cobbled together from the scraps Kiva and Valerie had created making theirs.

With the tiniest flicker of her powers, List lit the lantern's flame, and slowly but surely, the tiny flicker turned into a small orange glow.

"A part of me hopes I'm doing this for nothing," List murmured into the flame. "That I don't have anyone to send this to, and all the friends and family I had before are still alive and happy. But I know you're not. I don't even know how I know, but there it is."

"I hope this gets to you, whoever you are," List said. "I don't know the rules about addressing these things, but it's the best I could do. Sorry about the size as well. Valerie's remarkably efficient with her arts and crafts."

She could have just asked Valerie to get supplies for her as well. But that would have meant explaining her whole issue of addressing a lantern 'to whom it may concern,' and all the odd, twisted feelings she had tied to her . . . condition.

It was one thing for Valerie to know that List had amnesia. The hellborn had never really expected to be able to hide that for long. But it was another to let Valerie, or anyone, know how she really felt about it.

Empty wasn't the right word. What List felt was constantly lost. Anytime she tried to tackle the void in her mind, it was like trying to navigate a familiar place in total darkness after someone had rearranged all the furniture. She'd reach for something she knew should be there, and grope nothing but empty air, or she'd run into something when she expected nothing. 

It wasn't just not knowing. It was the fact that she knew she should know, and didn't, that was the real pain. That made her feel like a stranger in her own skull.

The lantern was a prime example of that. She could feel a deep grief in her heart when she thought about the lantern and what it meant. She knew she had someone to send it to. Maybe several someones. But when she tried to come up with anything—a name, a face, a relation—nothing.

What was she supposed to do with a sourceless pain like that? What was anyone supposed to do with that?

Maybe someday, she'd find some way to talk about it with someone.

But not tonight.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she said, “I’m sure I loved you.”

Kaleb sat on a rooftop in the city of Lochmire, watching a river of orange dots drift up from the city and into the night sky. This was the first he'd seen of the local custom. 

Every one of those lights was somebody's loved one. Somebody's memories. A life spent together, or parted too soon. Every column of lights was a stream of stories, linking the living and the dead.

"I miss you, Mom," he whispered, imagining his words drifting out across the night air to hitch a ride on one of the rising lanterns.

A hollow ache gripped his chest as he spoke the words, and yet, there was something freeing about the ache. Like a release of pressure, or the sting of cleansing on a wound. 

It was as close as he would be able to get to participating tonight. Al-Sakr wanted him ready to move as soon as everything else was in place. Weeks of shaking down the Pavers for information had led them here. They knew now that their target was working for the King's Chosen, Emir Zaman.

But the Chosen's keep was a fortress, and apparently, it had only increased its security in recent months. Cracking it would take considerable time and preparations, and they would have to actually make sure the target was in the keep in the first place.

That, or they'd have to find a way to draw the target out, which was the option Al-Sakr was looking into now. He always preferred to make his enemy come to him, if he could. But, as usual, he hadn't trusted Kaleb to come along.

Sit and wait. Stay out of the way. Don't screw up.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was even doing here if his handler wanted nothing to do with him. But, as with every other time he wondered, he knew the answer. Three words, etched into his bones.

Prove your worth.

He involuntarily winced at the memory. At all the memories it brought with it. He really was terrible at the First Principle.

A sudden burst of light drew Kaleb's focus back to the city as, in a district not far from him, a column of green flame burst straight up into the night sky, briefly illuminating the clouds in their sickly glow. When the flames subsided, the clouds that had been parted by the flames had taken on the shape of a skull with three eyes.

Immediately, the quiet city came alive. All over Lochmire Keep, lights were turning on in windows. Dogs barked in panic, and the first shouts of confusion and worry began to filter through the streets.

Kaleb felt a flutter of something in the pit of his stomach. Intrigue. Excitement. Something was happening in Lochmire tonight, and it was a lot more interesting than sitting on a roof, feeling bad about himself. He wanted to race to scene without another thought. But he couldn't. Al-Sakr had told him to stay here.

On the other hand, one of the Principles was to know your surroundings. And could he really say he knew Lochmire if he let himself be in the dark about an event as big as that? If Kaleb was quick, Al-Sakr might not even know he'd ever left. And even if he did, surely he'd understand. 

Considering himself sufficiently justified, Kaleb leapt off the roof to see what all the fuss was about.