Forgotten Embers

46. You Again

There was a strange silence, broken only by the clacking of his boots against the stone portico as he apprehensively approached the doors of the large building.

He had seen a group of men on horses leaving High Palace in pursuit of the officials following their escape. The troop had been headed by Zahaynei, and Kelvin was with them. He had lamented the boy's involvement, but some decisions could only be made by a man and not his friend. They were, however, being led by Kallida's birds, which made him uncomfortable, and he had seen the six men returning whilst he traversed the wood, which made him all the more uneasy. Now, the sight of the half-open door which led into a darkened library hall left him with great concern.

He pressed his hand against the wood of the door, scraped and beaten, and he pushed it slowly open. The room was dark with a faint white glow emanating from it.

'The flame is out.'

He felt his heart twisting as he entered the room with vigilant care.

'My nervousness is not befitting, I know. But...'

He took a quick sweep of the room with his eyes. It appeared dilapidated and grey, as if it had been left uncared for some time. The room was filled with dust and cobwebs all around; disintegrating scraps of old books and papers were strewn throughout the cold and dreary room.

'How quickly do we fall to disrepair.'

There was a ghost-like figure in the center of the room, his semi-translucent form a soft white which emanated light from within him. He had the appearance of a man, though blank faced and without features. It was as if a man had taken a stretch material and covered himself in it entirely, but he, himself, was light which the material could not contain.

The ghost knelt on one knee next to a body which lay seemingly lifeless on the ground beside him, and he remained watching it until his head turned to Blackridge at the door.

Adrien stared at him, speechless.

"You again," he said at last. He looked to the man's body, his still form illuminated by the light of the ghostly specter. "He's dead, isn't he?" he asked as he approached them.

The man looked to the one on the floor, then turned his head again to Blackridge.

"Why are you here?" Blackridge asked him. "What have you to do with death?"

He came next to the spirit and looked down on the lifeless form of a man. 'Ah..! Benjamin...'

The spirit tilted his head.

"You are the one who lives and makes alive. You belong to the living, not the dead," the weary sage reminded him. "Uh... he is dead, isn't he?" he asked, and his voice caught, his eyes fixed on Benjamin with deep sadness.

The ghost gave a slow nod and turned again to Benjamin, placing his hand on his chest. He looked to Blackridge, who watched him with interest. The specter, then, stretched forth his hand, taking hold of Adrien's wrist and placing his hand on Benjamin's wound.

He felt the blood, wet and cold, as his hand touched the torn garments, pressing against them gently.

'Oh, Ben...'

He swallowed, tears welling in his eyes, and his breathing became heavy as he fought off crying. He brought back his hand and the blood stuck to it, staining his fingers and palm with crimson. He lifted his hand to his face, staring at it.

'Is this my doing, also?'

"Listen..." he said quietly, turning to his ghostly companion, "if this is about what happened before, I..." he stopped. "Well, if it was, then you shouldn't have..." he felt the water as it began to run down his cheeks. "No, I suppose not," he muttered. "Really, I should thank you. I... well, you know." His eyes looked away, cast downward from the expressionless face with overwhelming remorse. "I wish I..." he stopped again, unable to complete the statement of heartfelt sentiment.