by Ime Atakpa
Rinaldo’s death begins to upset me. I can’t fathom someone capable of what Rinaldo has shown me falling so close to the brink of his demise that every movement is an accomplishment in itself. He has lived for thousands of years, but time brought even him here. Look at him, weak and frail.
We shamble through the corridors of his home where unfamiliar symbols are imprinted seemingly at random into the walls. No, not quite unfamiliar. Some are sigils to ward detection and others serve to lure souls. I’m not sure how I know this, but I realize the knowledge is only borrowed. An echo of Rinaldo’s soul reverberates dimly within me, then fades. Knowledge of the runes fades with it.
Rinaldo gasps heartily, his weight seems to double, and I feel myself begin to fall beneath him. Before the pressure becomes too great, though, Rinaldo forces himself back against the wall in a heavy slump.
“Come on,” I urge despite the nagging in my head telling me to let him fend for himself.
“Your answer?” he coughs. “You’ve made it?”
I don’t respond but give him space to breathe and compose himself. Rinaldo draws in a long breath through his nose, then blows slowly from his mouth. He does this several times, each breathe more steady than the last. At the end of it, he straightens up and speaks in the clearest voice he’s mustered since I’ve returned.
“Your will to live. Your body.”
He’s right. It’s the same will that allowed me to breach the barrier between myself and my parents. It’s the will that gave me the power to assist Rinaldo even though I’m dead and have no real body to speak of. My will alone tethers me to the physical world.
That’s how I did it. I wanted to be alive and with my parents badly enough that I was able to breach through the divide between life and death.
Rinaldo smiles. “You’ve decided.”
I have. I want to live. “I don’t want to admit it, but I need you.”
“She told me the same thing.” A prolonged fit of coughing follows this. His smile fades. I move in to help him the rest of the way. He waves me away and finishes the walk up the stairs without assistance. I follow close behind. But then he stops again at the top.
“What now?” I ask.
“I have to say, now that all my efforts have been derailed, I see a certain light at the end of it all.” His voice may still be weak, but he seems to be returning to his usual self. “There’s one more secret left for you before you reaffirm your choice—”
“I’ve already made my choice.”
“Hence reaffirm.”
“There’s something I need to do. This is the only way I can make things right by me.”
“Oh?” Rinaldo laughs weakly. He staggers down the hall, still using the wall for support. By the time we reach the room—even though it’s not more than five or seven yards away—his limbs tremble with fatigue. He stops again at the door. His feet shift awkwardly. “Perhaps you truly have made your choice. I have no intention of changing your mind, but you’ve come to me demanding answers. This shall be the last of those.”
“I’m done with your secrets,” I answer sharply. “It doesn’t matter anymore what you have to say or what you’ve done. I don’t care.” My eyes move uncontrollably sideways. “Not anymore.”
Warmth creeps into the cold, dying building, even if just for a moment. A strange sensation overwhelms me. It’s as though I understand everything at once, understand it more completely than I did before. And yet, I can’t put my finger on what’s changed except that Rinaldo’s eye now seems like it has taken on the fullness of its color. White ripples out from the center of his iris. It’s bright and meaningful. It wants to tell me something, but what that something is remains a mystery because the moment my curiosity peaks, the warmth fades away. Rinaldo’s eye simmers down to its dull blackness. His feet spread apart and he looks less—I can’t quite place a finger on the difference except to say he looks less vulnerable than he had just a moment ago.
“Maybe you’re right,” he says. “Maybe you don’t need to know.” He tries to smile but only the corner of his lips move. The rest of his face slumps in bitter contentment. That paralytic effect doesn’t prevent him from coughing though, and as he raises a hand to cover his mouth, I see the evident signs of his degradation: blackened, scaly skin that peels and flakes away as his sleeve rubs against it. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling the hand out of my sight. He pushes the door open slowly then swiftly scuttles inside.
Alceste stands to greet us. Her eyes are drawn to his arm held close to his side. She, of all people, would be the last to be deceived by his energetic entry. He can’t hide the severity of his symptoms. She stops halfway toward us and gasps. “Are you?”
“Not much time left.” Rinaldo allows her to help him. Though he staggers with every step, I can tell how much he’s trying to keep himself upright. Alceste holds him around the waist for support. She places his other hand on his cheek and strokes his wrinkled skin. He’s grown so old.
As for myself, I move around them toward the bed. I stand at the edge, watching Alceste carefully sit Rinaldo down. Her hands never leave his waist or face, and she never stops whispering comforts to him.
I can’t fathom how she can still give two shits about him after all this time trapped in his lodge. An image of my parents embracing flashes across my mind. I shake it away. Rinaldo slumps backward in the chair. Alceste raises a cup of tea to his dry lips. He takes it in small gulps. How can she stomach devoting herself so wholly to him after he stole everything?
My rage bubbles, and it takes everything I have to choke it down. Anger won’t give me what I want. Rinaldo wants me to take his place. All that power. I need it to do what must be done. I need it to become—
A deafening crack puts a swift end to my thoughts. Darkness follows.
-VI-
Undeath Undone
“Crowley? Oh, Crowley! Are you there?”
The lights flicker and fade to a dim buzz. There’s something grotesque beneath these failing lights. Another crack shatters the bedside window. Glass blows outward onto the lawn below. Cool air rushes into the room and weaves through Alceste’s messy hair. Cradled in her arms are the remnants of the Death Eater, burnt and flaking away in large chunks. His hair falls away in patches as Alceste runs her hands through it. That doesn’t stop her from caressing him until the last hairs fall away; and even after that, she continues massaging his scalp.
“Dearest.” Rinaldo moans over the whistling wind. An ethereal force pounds the room. The remaining lights shatter, ushering in true darkness. Only moonlight remains. Over the whistling wind, I hear the definite sound of someone—not just anyone, but Rinaldo—crying. He sits miserably in that chair, about to meet the fate that he denied my ancestor. And he’s crying.
“You’re almost free from all this. Please. Please.” Her hands stroke his face again and again, and each time, the flakes fall off and blow away.
“Yes. I wouldn’t let myself wither away before allowing you the gift you’ve so long been denied.” Sharp sobs punctuate his speech. In the little light that remains, I can barely make out the shape of his body. Alceste’s body is clearer. Her arms are thrown around his neck, and she’s crying too though her tears are silent.
“My Crowley.” She squeaks her first audible sob, cradling his face in her hands. “I would have died for you to stay.”
Rinaldo’s hands tremble on their way up to grasp hers. “I would never ask you to.” He holds them as tightly as he can and strains to lift the one corner of his mouth that can still smile. “This is the house where you lost your freedom. The boy wants to know why you’ve stayed with me.” Rinaldo’s voice is harsh like that of a lifetime smoker. “You needed but to ask, and I would have gladly released you. I want to know why too—oh, listen to me, how weak I’ve become.”
“No, you’re not weak. You gave me so much.” Alceste places her lips against his forehead, then against his cheek. When she pulls away, little flakes cling to her mouth. “You returned me
to my love, and you gave me love—”
“No!” Paint cracks and peels from the walls. The ceiling splinters, releasing clouds of wood dust. Rinaldo’s voice echoes several times, then the room goes silent. Neither of them moves. But in the little light that remains, I see her teeth flash in a wide smile.
“You did. You gave me something to cling on to.”
“I stole it from you, and you adopted it. What do I have? What am I worth that hasn’t been stolen from better hands?”
“You gave me a choice, Crowley.”
“I gave you the illusion.”
“And I knew it, love. I knew it always, that you wanted me for yourself. And even wanting me, you left me free to pursue her. You were gracious.”
“No,” he protests again.
“Yes. And to ours, you’ve been gracious. I’ve touched their souls, and I know their happiness—and their gratitude. And look at him, the child behind us, what you’ve made of him. I’ll be with him always, and you too shall be with him. He’s made the choice he needs to make.” She turns to face me and smiles.
What happens next, I don’t quite understand. Rinaldo does his best to pull Alceste close to him. Of course he can’t, so she leans herself onto his chest. She slowly rubs her head against it with one arm wrapped around his neck and the other gripping his shoulder. She’s saying something. I know because I can see the white of her teeth appearing and disappearing rapidly. Sometimes she holds her mouth open to smile, or to cry, or to do both at once. She mostly talks and leaves him to shake his head solemnly. Then they stop talking. Rinaldo pulls the bead—Alceste’s soul—from his pocket.
It happens in an instant. Her clothes fall to a heap in his lap. Beneath them, I make out the shape of a skeleton. Her immortal bones stretch out on his lap, and her skull sits idly against his chest, covered in the dust of her ashes.
Suspended above those hollow bones, a white sphere radiates its light throughout the room. I move toward it, hoping that I might somehow be able to preserve her for a moment longer. I think of my parents, how their deaths too shall come, and how powerless I’ll be to stop them. Just like Rinaldo was powerless to stop this. And when I remember that, when I remember how little power I have to change the outcome of something like that, I halt where I am and watch.
There’s a face in that sphere of light and it smiles at me. Then it bursts, dispersing throughout the room, showering us in pellets of light that fade away before they can even touch the ground.
“Alceste?” I call to her. I like the sound of her name on my tongue. I’ve never spoken it before, and now that I have, I feel her more intimately than I ever have. I feel loved. She won’t respond, but I call again for the pleasure of hearing her name. I keep calling until I’m interrupted by Rinaldo’s sobs. His sadness reminds me of the permanence of this. Even so, I call again, more frantically. Alceste refuses to re-form or respond or do anything at all. Of course she won’t. Her spirit is dead, she’s gone.
And then Rinaldo smiles in the chair and repeats my thoughts. “She’s gone. Undeath, undone.”
-VII-
The Mantle of Death
“Time’s up,” Rinaldo croaks. “The nightwalker is free from her long journey. Soon enough, I’ll follow her.” His expression turns grim. “Only by my will are you tethered here. I die, you die.” He passes into a fit of coughing for a short minute, spits on the floor, and continues. “Or you inherit my mantle, take my place, keep living.”
The word yes hangs on the tip of my tongue. It’s what I want, what I need. The power to prevent souls from carrying on and suffering. It’s the one thing that could have saved my parents from what they’ve become. If Alceste had gone peacefully and if I’d gone peacefully, Mom and Dad might be able to have a semblance of happiness. Their grief might not have ruined them. Death should be peaceful, not an eternity of suffering. Here is my chance to take the reins and change the world for the better. But I hesitate.
“Ask whatever you need.” Rinaldo’s breathing becomes heavier and less certain. I don’t waste any time complying.
“What do you gain from giving this to me?”
Rinaldo looks down and thinks for a moment. “I stole the mantle of time…to make a new world. In the end, I could not.” He tries to laugh but can only cough. He spits out another mass of phlegm. “What a terrible world.”
“Only for the souls you’ve manipulated.” Again, my anger gets the better of me. Again, I feel nothing but hatred for him. I know it’s wrong. Not even fifteen minutes ago, I watched him cry in Alceste’s arms. He showed me more humanity than I thought him capable of.
“Trust me, I’m…I’m not the worst of them. Take the mantle, boy. Take it, Hubert.” His weak, trembling arm reaches toward me. Hearing my name and seeing his desperation, I’m tempted to leave it at that, but there’s still something else eating away at me.
“Okay, so you stole the mantle of time, but not even you could handle it. That’s your power. I’m just a kid. How am I supposed to survive yours?”
“Instability…mine is complete, all yours. Nothing…nothing…” He stops there and falls back in the chair, clutching at his chest and screaming through clenched teeth. “No time left. Take it.”
Time runs short for us both. His life nears an end, and with it, I’ve got no more time to worry about his ulterior motives. I don’t trust him, but right now I don’t have a choice. “Yes,” I answer. “I accept it.”
Rinaldo reaches out and touches my soul.
In that moment, the anguish leaves his face, the ridges in his brow smooth out, and his face fills with color. Rinaldo returns to the version of himself I’ve been so familiar with, the one full of vigor. The muscles in his face move with renewed energy, and a bright light engulfs the both of us.
“The cardinal mantles must be passed. Just like…” He pauses to glance down at the gown still draped over his legs. “Like that, you must leave this world, unless I stop it. Unless I give you the mantle of death.”
“I accept it.”
Affection replaces the sadness in Rinaldo’s eyes. It’s the same affection as when I first met him. “I’ve run from judgment long enough. It’s your turn to wear this mantle, to fulfill my—our—design.”
The light surrounding us brightens. I feel a tightness in my core, the same tightness as when I summoned the tendrils, except this sensation is damning. I’m crippled by it.
“I apologize, Hubert. The pain is expected.”
Trapped in this ephemeral light, I trust him. And when that moment of trust is up, I scream at the pain that follows, but by then it’s too late to stop the process. I feel myself being shredded apart piece by piece. The pain is excruciating, but before I submit to it, I feel his finger tracing lines across my forehead and hear his distorted voice whisper in my ear.
“You are not alone,” he tells me. I find comfort in the words; they hush me like a pacifier quiets a bawling infant. Then he steps back and the room becomes pitch black.
The last thing I smell is his flesh rotting away. The last thing I hear is the sound of his voice resonate in my ears: “And now you are become death.”
-VIII-
Remnants
I feel my face, arms, and legs. Each of my feet falls softly against the ground. The overt cold of the sanded down floor creeps into them. My body trembles. So many sensations flood me at once. These feelings I had forgotten feel so foreign, I hardly know how to react to them. There’s hot tea steeping downstairs. I can smell it from here. Cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon.
I wish Rinaldo were still here to watch me defy his taunt. “I’d offer you something to drink,” I say aloud, and then laugh at the sound of my voice. My very own voice. Even that, I’d forgotten. Before, it had been nothing more than a phantom sound, an echo of its true self, but now it’s complete with all the presence I’ve been searching for. Damn if it doesn’t feel good to have a body again, to be able to walk and feel and exist. I thrust my fist forward without thinking and it collides against
the wall with a thud. No tendrils necessary. No focus necessary. Nothing but thought and movement. I’m alive.
Wind continues to blow through the shattered bedroom window. I feel the breeze against my skin. It’s a cool reassurance that what I’m experiencing isn’t imagination.
I can go home. I can be with my parents again. The idea taunts me. The thought is so great that it keeps my feet fastened to the ground. There’s no mistaking it. I’m afraid. “I can’t go back.” I know that if I don’t say those words aloud, I won’t believe them. Much like I saw my corpse and refused to believe what it really was. I coddle myself too much, all the good it does me. Frustration tempts me to dig luxurious holes where obvious truths are unwelcome. Unfortunately, I’ll have to accept this truth. Cutting myself away from my parents and my life before now is my first step as the new Death Eater. Now that I’ve gained power, I—
What power? I raise my hands to my face and twiddle my fingers. Rinaldo promised me his mantle. If it really was the seed of his powers, I should have them all now. Mastery over death should belong to me, but I don’t feel any different. I hardly remember what it was he did to me. My forehead tingles slightly from where he touched me, but besides that and the full return of my senses, I don’t feel much different.
The mantle senses my displeasure. It speaks to me. My duty is to exist separate from the living. I am to mingle in between, never interfering directly with their affairs. That is my official capacity and the regulation that the former bearer of the mantle neglected. Rinaldo fraternized with men and brought about the night walks that plagued my family for generations. That is a curse I wish on no one. If staying away from people prevents me from being tempted to do what Rinaldo did, I’ll happily keep my distance. My parents deserve happiness. They’ll find it much sooner without me.