CHAPTER XI #4
“Can one of you expand?” I ask them both, trying to recall any references to the Plains of the Afterlife but coming up short. Everything about Hirovale is always so secretive, so hidden from the text of the Old World that I didn’t even know he had a Bird of Ash before meeting Stormfall.
Mana’s eyes dart ahead to the group, watching them in their ride as he slows his horse and puts space between us and them. How Keane and Desmond know where to go in this city is beyond me, but they continue to lead us throughout the numerous tall white buildings and forests between.
Holis sighs with an almost sad smile and turns to me in his saddle.
“The Plains of the Afterlife are a heavy burden on the Ancient. One that he was tasked to carry on his own...”
“Once a being has passed,” Mana’s voice is low, “they are greeted by the Ancient to be escorted to their next exploration of life…”
I nod, knowing this.
“But he chooses,” Holis whispers, emphasizing the word. “He chooses whether he will let that being move on to their next life or if he will hold them back. Whenever he claims a soul, he keeps them to this Old World in the Plains of the Afterlife.”
I’m immediately reminded of my time in Fumagalli, when Hirovale came into the room at the mills to claim the soul of Woodlands Discerni that Keane was about to kill.
He will not rest, his cool voice hummed in my mind. Those were the words he spoke so plainly before Keane plunged the green agate into the man’s chest.
“But what exactly does that mean?” I ask the brothers as a small shiver runs down my back, noticing that we’ve finally reached a central hub of sorts in the middle of the large city.
“What does he do with the souls he’s claimed?”
Everything around us is now towering and clustered, with white marble homes and different shops peeling down different roads and alleyways.
There’s no temple here, but there are multiple libraries, homes, shops and even a few theatres, all standing proper and beautiful but without any people walking between them.
Our group moves into a circular opening, riding around a large white marble fountain in the middle of the cobblestone ground, the running water continuing its relaxing calm.
Both Holis and Mana shift in their seats, their faces quiet and deeply thoughtful. Holis finally turns to look at me again, his face solemn but determined.
“When the Ancient claims a soul, it is his to do with as he pleases. The Plains of the Afterlife are something he constructed, and they act as different steppes in which a soul is confined to. The first and smallest is for those whose transgressions in life were ill but not frequent. Thieves and peddlers, grifters who have hurt others to the benefit of their own lives. The souls he keeps there wander endlessly without aim until he deems their penance has been fulfilled…”
My eyes go wide on Holis.
Hirovale is dealing out his own retribution?
Ancients.
“The second plain is reserved for those that take a life,” Holis continues as my eyes flick to Keane and Desmond up front. “Murderers and butchers. It is rumored that plain is filled with its own prisons, where the souls are reminded of the brutality they committed…”
Where two rooms sit vacant for the men who took your parents lives, Alex. Hirovale’s voice reverberates throughout my whole body. Your interest wasn’t there in Etter, but if it was, you’d have learned that those men are now in La Cour.
I shudder in my saddle as Stormfall grips my shoulder.
“And the last two?” I nearly whisper, not knowing if I’m asking Holis or Hiro.
Something gold flickers from inside one of the buildings, catching my eye as I get a small reprieve.
I turn towards the large window nestled against a home, spotting a few candles that are attached to the walls inside.
The Discerni brothers look as well, as does everyone else from the group riding up front.
All eyes are on those small flames in suspicion, assessing, but not finding any change in the surroundings behind them.
“The last two Plains of the Afterlife are reserved for the worst,” Mana replies quietly, “for those that harm children and those who are inherently evil. Any souls that grace the third and fourth steppe never leave.”
You do this? I speak to Hiro silently, glancing at Stormfall. You greet and weigh every being of the Old World?
The Bird of Ash’s eyes are a violent gold, holding my gaze strong as the Ancient replies.
Every single one.
A sinking shiver takes over my whole body.
Wow.
How can anyone given that task be so sure in their being as Hirovale is? He moves so easily, so curious in his amusement when he approaches things. And all the while he’s been weighing souls? Dealing out their punishment?
I understand, now, why the sculptor chose to portray him with such darkness, and it only leaves me with more questions.
I know so little about you, Hiro…
His eyes hold mine through Storm’s, letting me mull.
And yet you know all about me. How am I to be your champion when I don’t know everything about the person I’m representing?
In time, Alex, his voice fills my mind, sending another small shiver down my spine. You will learn everything there is to know about me. In time.
Storm’s talons grip my shoulder, holding me in comfort as Hirovale’s words hold me to his gaze.
You know damn well I don’t like playing that game, Hiro…
The Ancient’s amused chuckle vibrates under my skin, the feeling so similar to Keane’s that I have to look away.
I take a deep breath and glance back at the city around us, noticing that there’s now a small handful of Discerni walking around in the late evening.
The women are graceful in their long grey robes and green dresses, most, if not all, hosting light skin and pale blonde hair that falls down their backs in the traditional Discerni curls.
They seem to be genuinely preoccupied, reminding me a bit of the patrons of Auclair and Elena at times, their hands full of books or carrying baskets filled with stones and herbs of different kinds.
Each of their gazes are elsewhere, as if lost in thought, though they do take the time to greet the King, even if for the briefest of moments.
Unlike the hidden faces in Etter…
It’s curious, but I have yet to see any humans since we’ve arrived, but then again, I haven’t seen much of anyone at all besides the women just now.
No one is awake as we ride through the city, and the few that are remain silent or keep to their sparkling white homes.
Everything is just quiet in a serene sort of way, the city capitalizing on its femininity with a peaceful ambiance devoid of any night life.
There’s no guards or soldiers walking down the roads or patrolling the different temples, no rowdy pubs filled with drunk and boisterous patrons clamoring out the door.
There’s no late workers or early morning risers making their way to and from their homes, just the calm and organized towns and their temples.
There is, however, more tea shops, theatres, apothecaries, and libraries than I’ve ever seen before, prompting me to suspect that the people here do have a bit of fun, just not so late in the night.
I think I even spot a smoke shop in our ride, though it’s quaint and looks like it could be a cafe.
In fact, there definitely is smoke shop, as we now ride by one with its candles still burning in the windows.
I look into the shop and notice two Discerni women smoking from a pipe that sits tall on a small table between them.
They each hold a long hose in their hands, smoking simultaneously as they speak softly in discussion.
My eyes immediately dart to Cal up ahead, catching his broad grin and the determined look that meets mine instantly. We both nod and angle our horses towards the shop, but the King’s amused voice stops us almost instantly.
“Not tonight, Cal. Alexis.”
Keane doesn’t even turn in his seat to look at us. He already knew of our intention.
“Bastard,” I scowl at the back of his head.
Keane’s ears perk up with a smile that graces the sides of his lips, shaking his head just slightly as he keeps our group moving. I turn to Cal with a look of promise behind my eyes, the two of us agreeing we’ll be back tomorrow.
The next pathway Keane and Desmond lead us on begins to slope upwards, moving over a small hill and towards a cluster of buildings that rest on top of the forest. We continue on that winding road, riding under the canopies of thick green trees and bottled moonslight before we reach the small village high above.
Everyone takes their cue from the brothers and dismounts from their horses, the lot of us standing quietly before a small gathering of three different buildings that form the tiniest of villages.
Two of the buildings sit charming and quaint on our left.
The first looks like a large cottage or inn, spanning wide across the forest and two stories high, its walls mixed of greystone and white marble.
It has a large grass courtyard at its front with a small open stable at the far end, welcoming the travelers that it knew would make their way up the hill.
The second building next to it is a dreamy cottage, a home made for a small family that also sits at two stories high.
It has a large balcony connecting from a forward-facing room, the small veranda complete with a beautiful white fountain tucked in its corner.
Water falls over the side of that fountain and lands into another on the ground near the door, the two working in perfect harmony to create that peaceful ambiance in the air that never seems to leave.