Eira comes to me and embraces me. Her arms are warm, smelling of soap and lavender, a sharp contrast of the cold scent of death in the room.
"It will be alright," she whispers into my ear.
My throat is dry, like I've swallowed sand. I try to answer,but no sound comes out.
She nudges me toward the table and hands me a cup of water. I drink it mechanically.
"What now?" I ask, my voice cracking. "Silas is dead. Even Killar left."
"You can stay with me," she says without hesitation.
I look at her considering it. But like everyone else, she will die. Everyone leaves me. I can't bear watching her wither away and die. Not again.
I shake my head.
Eira sighs, a sad, resigned sound. "We should call the grave digger."
I nod.
"But first," she says, her eyes sharpening with worry, "we need to do something about your hair. If the gravedigger sees it and reports you. It could cause problems. Your eyes shouldn't be ab issue as long as you don't make an eye contact."
Eira opens dark vial and starts massaging the black liquid into my hair. The smell is pungent, stinging my nose, but it hides the blue.
"Now wait here. I'll go for the gravedigger."
She moves to Silas. She dyes him as well, including his eyes. Then she gently close his eyes, making him look like he is sleeping.
Then she leaves.
Eventually, Eira arrives back with a rough looking old man in tow. He smells of tobacco.
He looks at me, I stare at ground, then at the body. "My condolences."
He pulls back the cloth Eira placed over Silas, checking his face and the rest of the body efficiently.
"It seems like a natural death," the man grunts. "Shouldn't cause any problems. Was he a believer in the Blue Flame or the Twelve Spirits?"
The two most prolific religions in Caerum.
"Twelve spirits," Eira answers.
"Burial is more expensive than cremation. Fuel is cheap, land is not. It costs one spark. Can you afford it? The deities don't mind, as long as you followed your faith while living."
"It is no problem," Eira says softly. "Could it be done today?"
"Yes, boy come in," the gravedigger shouts towards the door.
A younger man, perhaps in his thirties, walks in carrying a stretcher. Together, they lift Silas's corpse. And with heavy grunts they carry him outside and place the stretcher in their cart.
"You want to give him a farewell yourself?" the gravedigger asks.
"Yes," Eira answers. "That is the least I can do." She looks at me. "You want to come too?"
"Yes," I whisper.
We board the back of the cart, sitting on the rough wooden planks beside the body, now covered in a cloth bag. The ride is bumpy as we navigate the unmaintained roads.
We pass the city gate. The guards, knowing the gravedigger, wave us through without a second glance.
Outside the walls, the world changes. There are only old empty buildings. There are fields spreading in every direction filled with wheat and at the horizon the blue mist looms, the Death Veil.
It pulses like a slow heartbeat, a cold pressure against my soul. It feels like it's calling me, daring to step closer. No wonder people are scared of it, not daring to even approach it.
We stop not far from the walls.
"There isn't any space in the city," the gravedigger explains, grabbing a shovel. "But since nobody lives out here anymore, it works well enough for a graveyards."
They start digging, the ground is hard and frozen. Between the rhythmic thuds of the shovels the younger man mentions, "A lot of people are converting to the Twelve spirits recently. Making us work harder." He laments.
Afterwards, they lower the corpse in the hole.
"Last chance to say any words," the older gravedigger says, retreating a bit and leaning on his shovel.
Eira steps on the edge and kneels. She traces the symbol of Spirits on her chest. She whispers a prayer, her voice trembling. When she turns back, tears streak her cheeks.
I steel my nerves and approach.
I stand alone at the edge of the hole. I look down at the shapeless bundle that used to be my teacher, my saviour, my family.
First my mother. Then Taliah and Jonah. Now Silas.
Tears pour from my eyes. I don't pray to the spirits. I don't pray to the Lord of the Blue Flame.
Where were they, when I needed them.
I clench my fist until my nails bite into my palms, warm blood drips on the ground.
"I will kill him," I whisper. "No matter what."
That is the only thing that remains for me in this cruel world. The only thing that drives me forwards. The only thing they can't take away from me.
"I will kill them all."
...Kill...
I don't suppress the voice this time, finding solace within it.