Tosho is Dead

by Opal Edgar

  “Thank you, Sir Monarch. We are most grateful,” Elise said.

  “Don’t. Tosho is the one that showed me I wasn’t fully taking on my responsibilities.”

  The air grew dense. All five friends looked down at the floor. The brush strokes against the make-up bowl were painfully loud in the sudden silence. The turquoise powder crunched. Lil’Mon sighed.

  “And don’t be so formal, Elise. The Nile runs long, from stream to sea many flows join in, but it remains what it is. Perhaps I am a god, but to you I am just one more soul to hang on to the Children League dream.” Lil’Mon smiled.

  Baas finally nodded. He adjusted the lace at his throat. He’d made a special effort today, taking it to new heights by designing his own shoe buckles to look like jewelled bats. The embroidery on his vest matched Elise’s dress, even though they had their own shade. He wore a lighter blue than her, to match his own eyes. He was the sky to her ocean. He liked that. He curtsied and presented his arm to her.

  “My lady,” he said.

  Her hand was as light as a butterfly's touch. Such a shame she grabbed the hoop sticking out of a rocking box at the same time. Her eyes shone with excitement at the new found toy. She pushed it so it rocked back and forth a few times.

  “’Tis exactly what I need! ’Tis beautiful.” she marvelled. “What is it?”

  “Just a chair. You rest your back on the hoop and you can push with your feet to believe you are sitting in a row-boat.” Lil’Mon smiled.

  “Alpheus would you mind depicting it for me?” she called out.

  “People invented a machine that can capture an image in seconds, they call it a photographic camera. I want to get one for you as soon as the living world guardianship gets sorted out,” Bass said.

  Elise squeezed his arm while Lil’Mon thanked his worshipers. He turned to the Styx.

  “Thank you for joining us. All witnesses are important: your voice added to ours, especially in your condition, will give our plea much more strength,” he said.

  The Styx struggled to stand. She was still adjusting to the atmospheric suit, but it let her escape the bed of her river, and, after 17 years, that was priceless.

  “I’m just hoping one of them will know how to get my soul out of that silly sword!” the Styx ejaculated, more furious than ever. “I can’t believe no one knows where Ammit disappeared to.”

  “Kemsit is working hard at locating all the gods of our pantheon, she was always into the whole grandeur of our Empire. When we put our hands on Ammit, I can assure you, you will be the first to know.”

  “I know,” the Styx groaned. “And thank you for the suit – Manticores are such resourceful creatures. The knowledge accumulated in that brain of his is remarkable. And appreciated! It’s just frustrating to be so close and yet …”

  She didn’t finish her sentence as a chorus of voices chimed over. It was court time.

  Elise held onto Baas’s arm until her fingers collapsed into a fist. The pyramid vanished too. Elise sighed, now alone in one of her world’s fields. She took the little painting Alpheus had created for the occasion out of her skirts – Baas had its twin. It kept a portal open so she could see everything they did, and so the spirits could hear her voice even if she couldn’t come. Perhaps Ammit, the great goddess who so carefully removed souls out of the newly dead so Anubis could weigh their worth, could help her, too. Maybe she would even agree to return her soul, because Elise knew that the ability to do something and the willingness to go through with it were two very different things.

  ***

  The spirits of the spirit council sat in a great arena. The polished stone steps and pew gleamed pure white. Red cushions stained the white like blood, but they were so much more comfortable than marble. The room was a perfect circle, symbolising their unity and equal position. The frescoes on the walls and ceiling represented the history of humanity's religions. So many beliefs, so many systems implemented to manage the dead. It was a masterpiece. Michelangelo had outdone himself.

  The question today was serious. One of their own had tried to overthrow the current power regimen. It was unacceptable. But could they punish one of their own? Wasn’t that unacceptable too? Who were they to judge one’s belief over the whole?

  The Little Monarch walked in from the bottom of the arena. He was one of their own. He understood. Only one of their own could talk at a meeting. That was the rule. He had guests, though, powerful ones: Elise the Builder, in her tiny porthole; the serpent child; the last manticore and a vampire lord. A few spirits pursed their lips at him. Vampires were so obnoxious and their rules just plain feudal. If only their lobby wasn’t so strong ...

  “We are witnessing grave times,” the Little Monarch started. “I have seen millenniums of changes, revolutions, coups, treason and treachery. Ra guided my eyes, Maat wept at my side.

  “I have seen empires rise and fall into oblivion. But now more than ever, I feel the danger crouching over humanity. We have grown arrogant. Some spirits believe they have the right to break the ordered peace we have worked so hard to build. Rogue spirits, but not only them. Spirits at the very heart of our corridors and system are betraying us. And they have used the vilest companions for this task: power thieves.

  “You heard me correctly, power thieves have started an uprise. They have attacked the friendless and feeble for so long, without us rising to defend those who needed it, that they now act with impunity. They come to absorb us in our very own shelters. They attacked Bartholomew in his rooms: IN the corridor. They absorbed the powers of the spirits on both sides of his door. That is already three extremely powerful victims, and with whose blessing? The Oracle’s!

  “We cannot afford to let that slide. We cannot afford to be lenient. I call for the harshest punishment over the Oracle.”

  The Little Monarch’s halo flamed round his head. The faces of the assembly were grave, but, before anyone could react, the floor trembled. A river of mud cascaded down the only flight of steps. The flowing golem was followed by a procession of six stone statues holding a great pillow. On the pillow was a tiny fishbowl containing a speck of a goldfish. A real GOLD fish.

  The Oracle’s voice boomed in the air. Heartbeats matched his tempo and breath came out in rhythm: his words whispered directly into everyone’s ears. A few spirits rubbed their skins to get the invasive touch off, but most were spellbound.

  “Who sincerely believes we found the right way to do things for all of eternity? This is pure hubris. Of course the shadow corridor is going to change, because there is always a better way. And we are all working hard to find it. I am no exception. And I, unlike some, have no prejudice. Ideas come from everywhere and everyone. I listen. We all listen, and we all do our best.”

  Shoulders relaxed. Postures lost their stiffness and throats unknotted. Some spirits nodded. The tension eased.

  “There is no crisis,” the Oracle said. “I am afraid Lil’Mon will always suffer from paranoia. That is his nature. How can the collective souls of all the murdered princes of the Ancient Egypt ever trust anyone? Most of the time they were murdered by their own brothers or sisters, or even by their parents! He cannot help but believe he will be betrayed again. It’s this weakness that makes him so endearing. He wants a better world, more than any of us, and yet he cannot trust us to help him: it goes against his very fibre.”

  The more sensitive spirits shed a tear. The note sang just right.

  “How dare you use my origins against me!” the Little Monarch fumed.

  “You willingly chose to merge all your souls together. That represented thousands of individuals you crushed into one single mind, one single body and one single soul. You sought power that way. You all refused to be weak, every single one of you, every individual that you used to be, and you did something drastic. Something many called an abomination at the time. You have power now, but not as much as you want. If there was someone in this room ready to do terrible things for power, I believe it is you. You have already proven you a
re capable of it,” the Oracle reminded everyone.

  The situation was inverting fast. Spirits looked at the Little Monarch with new eyes. Suspicion narrowed them to slits. The Oracle was right. Some biases could never be erased. The Little Monarch’s fear would be his undoing. Fear always led to hate and violence: that was a known fact.

  The Oracle nailed the coffin further, “If there is a dangerous person in this room, I believe it is you. Does this mean we should ostracise you?”

  A number of voices rose up. The Oracle lifted his fin to stop the rising figures in their tracks, and smiled generously.

  “Of course not,” he said, shaking his bobble-like fish head.

  The standing spirits frowned. Why not? Wasn’t the Little Monarch a threat?

  “We will never reject any of our members,” the Oracle said. “We embrace you, Lil’Mon, because we want to soothe your pains. And, my dear, my very dear little children, there is no crisis we won’t protect you from. We love you.”

  The rest of the spirits rose and clapped. Of course, they loved their little Egyptian God, because they were love and mercy. This is what they stood for! They were the good of the afterlife. The Oracle understood and embodied their ideals. He was a light amongst them. He took it upon himself to protect the very weakest of all humans, despite what that poor lost Lil’Mon said. The Oracle protected the living. He sacrificed all his time and efforts for them, saving those precious ones from the unscrupulous dead who would use them. Even in the face of defamation, the Oracle smiled, forgave and reminded others to follow his lead. He was exemplary.

  Lil’Mon boiled with rage. Where had they all been when Elise had lost her world? And then when her soul got ripped and merged with her creation? Where had they been when Merlin set a ghost on them to suck them dry of their power? How gullible were they?

  With the legs of his golems, the Oracle stepped over the spirits like butchered carcasses, claiming his victory. He did a little loop in his bowl. Elise sighed. Alpheus nodded – it was an utter disaster.

  “So you think it’s right to leave power thieves running round eating whoever they want?” Lil’Mon yelled out.

  “Of course not, it’s abominable,” the Oracle cried out. “We are so lucky Tosho took it upon himself to police them. By the way, isn’t he here? I really wanted to thank him for the initiative.”

  The Oracle circled his fishbowl innocently. A few spirits turned their eyes to the exceptional guests. The Oracle had thoroughly crushed his enemies’ credibility.

  “Where is he?”

  The question rose from the spirits’ lips just as the door whispered open. The air froze. The few who enjoyed inhaling and exhaling found their breath fogging up and choked. Kemsit ran a hand over the goose-bumps on arms. Baas immediately turned to the door, recognising his student’s presence.

  A tall silhouette, clad in shadows, observed from the threshold. His sword hung at his hip, heavy and bloated from its latest feeding. The Bartholomew sword had never feasted so much. It hadn’t crossed paths with the ghost, yet.

  “Tosho!” the Oracle exclaimed, his exuberance diming a notch. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I am here to claim the custody of the evil spirit amulet axe you have stolen. You are unfit to be its guardian. You should yourself be imprisoned inside to guarantee people’s safety.”

  The Styx beamed. He was paving the way for her plight. She stood a little straighter and got ready to move forth. But her meagre hope shattered as the Oracle laughed grandly.

  “Well that’s not a very nice thing to say about your greatest supporter! And who are you to make claims?”

  “I am the one who created the weapon,” Tosho said.

  He hadn’t moved. His handsome face held no expression, it almost looked like a mask.

  “I beg your pardon. I should have said, what are you to dare make a claim from a spirit? You are not one of us, even though your mind and body have obviously merged. You are at your peak, and yet you have no soul. Are you even human anymore? Can something like you, without any depth, emotions or sensibility, be trusted to hold an artifact so precious?”

  Murmurs rose amongst the spirits. The Oracle had struck a chord again. No one had ever thought a human could persist without a touch of a soul. There were ways to guard a soul outside of a body and keep it going, but not ever having a soul, not needing one, was inconceivable. However you looked at it, Theodore Baumhauer was an abomination, and the sight of him made them all a little queasy. One had more empathy for the golems.

  “Is my request being denied?” Tosho asked.

  The spirits awkwardly looked at each other. A bold woman nodded sadly and many followed suit. The Styx’s heart sank. Now was not the time to remind them Tosho held onto an artifact just as precious already. The way the tide was going, the spirits would sooner rip his sword from him and drop it in the lap of the enemy than help any of them. Lil’Mon yelled for the spirits to get back to their senses, but the fight was lost.

  Tosho knew about fights now. Baas taught him well, day after day. He did not waste precious energy in vain: he raced into the next battle.

  “How about my sword master? Will you protect Baas from his council? No one should be punished for doing the right thing.”

  “Perhaps I am presumptuous to speak for all of us,” the Oracle said, “but I don’t believe the spirit council has any opinion or advice to give the vampire council. They make their own decisions. They have stood apart from us from the very birth of this delegation and look after themselves.”

  The guest corner burst into outrage. Only Baas sat quietly, he knew vampires were only slightly better regarded than carrion-eaters. Lil’Mon protested vehemently but got patted on the head and ignored. The spirits sighed and rolled their eyes. If vampires could eat each other and vanish it would be a good riddance.

  Tosho turned on his heels and disappeared as quietly as he’d come. The door sealed shut behind him.

  The air eased up immediately. Spirits talked louder all of a sudden. Even a few laughs rose in the air. Elise coughed to get everyone’s attention. This unladylike behaviour, from her in particular, received a few raised eyebrows.

  “Sir Tosho is hunting the ghost that got away,” she said, creating silence again. “Keep congratulating yourselves, good folks, ’tis the right of reigning power. A soulless individual is performing your duty. He does not suffer for he does not feel anymore. But I do. We who know him suffer. Keep closing your eyes and comforting yourselves in lies. ’Tis thus that empires fall.”

  Furious, she swiped her hand across the portal, smudging Alpheus’s oil paint. The portal closed. Elise was done with them. Baas clutched the frozen painting to his chest. He stood up. The other guests followed his example. In the shocked silence, Baas led the party up the steps. Their heels hammered the cold impersonal stone with determination. The great double doors sighed open again.

  Tosho was not alone. He had friends. And they would fight for him and fix him. Kemsit closed the march. Just as the doors were about to shut, she turned her little face to the assembly and poked her pink forked tongue at them.

  Acknowledgement

  Thank you to Harley, Delphine and Patricia, who read that french first draft 15 years ago and encouraged me. Thank you to Kathleen, the first to believe it was worth an English version and who worked with me to get things started. I apologise to you for having being discouraged by all the rejections at the time, maybe I just needed to grow, gain skills and confidence to pick it back up from the drawers and entirely rewrite that book. Thank you to my husband for telling me I had talent and reminding me that I needed to spend time on getting words on paper to achieve my goal. And nothing would be what it is without my wonderful editor, Victoria Seymour, who did a beautiful job spotting the inconsistencies and and all the mistakes. She made this book read like a breeze. Finally thank you to Antonio Florentini from Pexels for the beautiful picture on the cover.

  About The Author

  Opal Edgar
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br />   Opal is an anthropologist who loves to invent lovable characters living amazing lives in worlds filled with their own cultures and rules. She has written many short stories and screenplays ranging from horror, to fantasy, and science fiction. She is currently working on publishing her first novel.

  Tell her what you think about her book on her page:

  opaledgar.wordpress.com

  Books In This Series

  The Power Thieve rule

  Kybele is invisible

  You liked Tosho is Dead?

  Look out for book 2 coming out soon

  Kybele is invisible.

  The Author will give you updates on her website:

  opaledgar.wordpress.com