Syrilth; A Dei Realm Tale

Chapter Four

It didn't take long for Jonathan to gather my things, my bags still in a neat pile close to the door. I could only stare as he prowled around the room, his barely checked emotions sharpening the movement. His revelation replayed in an endless loop, digging the futility of our efforts deeper and deeper until surely, I was bleeding from the open wound. Death. Loss. They were old friends in this quiet war we'd been in for years now. Old friends, but we'd never experienced them to this extent.

A hand on my shoulder brought me out of my dazed thoughts. Understanding welcomed me when I looked up to Jonathan. "I know, but it's not over yet. We're still here so we're going to keep fighting," he reassured. I paused then nodded, clinging to the sentiment in his words to bolster my spirits. Unsteadily I stood, motioning for Jonathan to lead the way.

Death wailed in my ears when he opened the door, immediately clawing at me to release it from its agony. I staggered back into the room, retching as the souls left behind assaulted me with their pleas. Healers were gifted to help all life flourish and cursed to be the only beings who could assist burdened souls to move on to the afterlife. Our magic bound us to this awareness for any who possessed a soul. While the sensation of life – even the sick or injured – was like a crisp breeze, those who didn't move on after their death was akin to dozens of needles piercing.

We trained to build walls around our minds to protect ourselves from the impact of these sensations. Even after decades of training though, there was never a way to truly shut out the torture that came with dealing with death.

My stomach heaved while I slowly rebuilt the mental walls that had crumbled in my earlier distress, bile burning the back of my throat as I gasped for air. Careless, I admonished myself, glancing up to find I had collapsed to all fours. Jonathan hovered as he had mere moments ago, the déjà vu making me sigh with frustration. This isn't your first time dealing with the aftermath, Syrilth, I scolded as I stood. I waved away Jonathan's outstretched hands, brushing off imaginary lint to give myself time to steady.

"We need to hurry," I reminded him when he continued to block the doorway. Another heartbeat passed, then he begrudgingly stepped out of the way. The pleas of the departed grew into wails as we began the descent. They knew. I couldn't stay to usher them into the afterlife, was abandoning them to an eternity of wandering without reprieve. I flinched as the weight of their suffering and despair clung to me, staggering precariously on the steps.

The stench was suffocating when we reached the first floor, the taste of iron shoved mercilessly down our throats. Wails transformed into screams as we trekked carefully across the room, their keening making my eyes water. "Don't look," Jonathan whispered, the strain in his voice not just from the pungent smell. The screams grew a little sharper with his words. A hand with a familiar scar across its palm caught my eye though, fingertips already turning blue from the winter that had swiftly moved in.

I've healed that hand, I remembered. A beat. "Elwin," I gasped. Jonathan grabbed my hand when my steps faltered, forcing me to move forward. "Oh gods, Elwin," I cried, stumbling as feeling left my limbs. Jonathan squeezed my hand.

"We have to keep moving."

How many more of our friends laid in the pools of blood around us? How many were we leaving behind to the elements and whatever else? It's not fair. It's not fair, I protested, the slick floor threatening to send me tumbling from my unsteady feet.

"We don't have time for you to help them, Syrilth."

The words were cruel, yet true. I knew he didn't mean to be cruel. It's not fair, we can't just leave them like this, I argued as I listened to the souls of those we knew sing death's song. The statement never passed my lips. I could only curl inward as we walked through the deceased that outnumbered us.