The Kindly One

XII. An Echo Left Behind

Kája sighed, leaning her forehead against the cold metal bars that separated her from the darkness of the Ossuary proper. Each bar was close enough to its siblings and reinforced with a grating that the ghouls within couldn't get to her. It was dark and chilled in the depths, the stone walls black with moisture and mold. The faint, sickly sweet smell of rot permeated the humid air and bugs crawled in the corners. The light was dull blue mage-fire, burning in the braziers without visible smoke. "...thou wouldst have loved her," she murmured into the gloom, finishing her one-sided conversation.

Glassy, clouded eyes stared at her, uncomprehending and without a trace of recognition. The only reply was heavy, ragged breathing. The creature could speak no longer, and likely didn't understand speech either.

The spellguard wasn't certain why she kept doing this to herself. It wasn't him. It was a shell, a memory, an echo left behind. She told herself that maybe just the sound of her voice was enough to reach him, piercing the darkness and crushing solitude of his corporeal prison to reassure him or remind him of his humanity. Or thou art a fool who cannot move on, Kája thought bitterly in the comfort of her own mind.

Whatever the truth, it was growing harder and harder to walk down the broad, mildew-slicked steps.

The ghoul on the other side of the grate shifted into the light, sniffing. Kája felt her heart crack when she saw that familiar face's distorted countenance. Drahomír Chvátal had been a handsome, distinguished man. His features were once a touch cruel, but his heart had never matched them. The most honorable man in Zaeylael, people had called him. Now the husk of him that remained was sallow, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. His thin lips were permanently drawn back in a ghastly smile that showed brown, broken teeth. His body slouched and moved like a beast's, his abdomen distended from sating his ghoulish hunger. The muscles on his arms and legs were wiry, imbued with unholy strength. His eyes were blind, but that didn't matter. They used their noses more than anything else down here in the dank dark. His fingers were claw-like and bony, the nails missing. His body had been denied eternal rest, lingering in its rotting purgatory long after it should have been gone.

Kája had never seen a more wretched creature.

"Farewell, Father," she whispered thickly, pushing away from the grate as the tears started to sting in her eyes. She'd had about all she could stand.

"I apologize for interrupting thine tender moment, Chvátal," a smooth, feminine voice said from behind her.

The spellguard knew that voice altogether too well. Nicol Kysely was the only person Kája knew who could pack so much disdain and condescension into so few syllables. Her voice was inky, like her heart, giving every impression that she spoke liquid shadow. Kája turned, studying the new arrival. It was hard to believe that once upon a time, she'd seen the woman as beautiful. Nicol had been her first flutter of infatuated adoration, before her eyes were forcibly opened. The mage was six years older than the spellguard, but she looked younger than she was. Her features were like a china doll's, perpetually perfect and pale. Heavily hooded eyes of lapis lazuli gleamed with amusement in the low light, giving the impression that Nicol was always half asleep. Her lips were full and almost pouting most of the time. Her hair, long and loose, was a red-brown that seemed identical to the color of cinnamon. "Mágissa," Kája greeted coolly. She knew the mage was here to refresh the bindings that kept the ghouls tied to life and largely free of rot. Kája hated her for it. The act was a vile one, serving only to prolong the torment of these souls.

"So formal. Thou shouldst relax. We will be seeing much of each other soon."

Kája successfully fought the urge to curl her lip. "Oh?"