dizzcity » Themes of Eternity

Labour May Day

Joshua — Fri, 01 May 2009 15:53:40 +0000

May Day, Labour Day… the first day of May, and the beginning of what I think of as my holidays. The NUS students are through with one week of exams, and have one more week to go before the term officially ends. My marking has been completed, my lecturer is preparing to submit them now, and all that is left is a postmortem meeting discussing how this semester went.

So, since this is Labour Day, I decided to plan all my doings for May, separated into different categories:

Summary Breakdown

Work = 2.5 days
Research = 7.5 days
Ministry = 7 days
Relationships = 2 days
Projects = 10 days
Leisure = 12 days
TOTAL = 41 days (12 hours per day, excluding sleep, meals and daily necessities)
TOTAL without any leisure time = 29 days.

Hmmm… that’s enough. I think I can do most of these in May, though I’ll probably not be able to complete everything on my leisure list. Actually, chances are I’ll get distracted by something not on this list and waste time here and there. But here’s hoping I should be able to complete at least 90% of the stuff here, which would then clear the boards in time for an equally-heavy list in June.

… Am I doing too much again?

Themes of Eternity: Age

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:29:33 +0000

I held the hand of the withered old man lying on the bed in front of me. His breathing was laboured, and his eyes were slowly becoming vacant. Rheumatism and arthritis had locked his joints a few years ago. It was painful to watch.

So painful.

Marilyn was seated beside me, her golden-red locks tumbling over my chest as she rested her head against my shoulder. We had maintained a vigil all throughout the night, and she was exhausted. The bride of my youth, still as young and beautiful as they day I had married her. But her eyes shone with unshed tears – tears that she could not show in front of the old man lying on the bed in front of us, gazing up at us with wondering eyes.

I put my arm around her and drew her close. My strong, well-muscled arm, full of life and youthful vigor. It was such a large contrast to the frail, weak limbs of the man lying on the bed that I momentarily choked. But I could not cry. I had to be strong, for Marilyn, for him. I did not want his last lucid memory of us to be one of sadness, but of comfort and strength.

He was looking at me now, gazing at my features with fond, loving eyes. I remembered those eyes. People said that we didn’t look anything like each other, until they saw our eyes. It was the one feature that marked us as father and son. But those warm, brown eyes were now clouded and vague. The light was slowly becoming dim in them, but we knew that it would never truly fade.

Why? Why, o Gods, did this happen?

He was dying, but yet not dead. A life that could never be fully complete, hanging on, and making the living suffer by his existence. All my joy at meeting him again had turned into the bitterest ashes. Other families had congratulated us on being able to meet up again, even after death. It was our great fortune that the barriers to the underworld had been broken and we had been restored to unity.

Was it really that great? A wellspring of bitterness arose in my heart. Marilyn and I had been returned to our youthful selves, as young as the day when we first met. But…

But… time had passed. The world had continued to revolve after our deaths. And people had grown old. If I had known then what I knew now, I would never have wished to be resurrected. Death was peace, life is torment.

The light in his eyes faded away to dimness. His mind would never be able to recognise us again, even though his body might still live on. Marilyn buried her face in my chest and released the sobs she had been holding back.

Parents should never have to watch their son grow old and die before them.

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Themes of Eternity: Enterprise

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:12:30 +0000

“I’m telling you Marsley, we’ve got a golden opportunity here!” Perschal was talking at his usual rapid pace, effervescing with excitement at his latest idea. “I’ve just met a guy who came back from ancient times, and he says that he knew what Naralik used to look like, back when it was a city. It turns out that he was one of architects hired to build the castle in the first place!”

Now that did sound interesting. Most of Perschal’s ideas were half-baked, crackpot schemes for economic domination, but every now and then a gem would turn up. It was my job to weed through the piles of rubbish and find the rare ones that were worthwhile.

“He says that he can sell us the blueprints, for a tiny share of the profits,” Perschal continued. “I’ve had a look at them, and they’re fantastic! Ancient architecture was a lot different from modern styles. The locals would get a kick out of it!”

“So what exactly are you suggesting, Perschal?” I said, trying to dampen down his enthusiasm with a chilly tone of voice. Of course, that worked about as well as trying to freeze a fireball.

“It’s brilliant, man! You’re going to love it! I’m thinking of rebuilding the place and marketing it as a tourist attraction! It’s got all the qualities of a great tourist spot – historical and cultural landmark, something new and different, and heck, it could even be nostalgic for the guys from the past, like my architect friend! We charge 100 gold coins a pop, and we’ll be rolling in millions in no time!” Perschal was almost beside himself with anticipation, rubbing his hands together as though he could already see the gold clinking into them.

My mind was suddenly swept away by the allure of Perschal’s vision. Naralik, ancient city of the humans, arising from the ruins of time like a phoenix. Yes, the locals would love it. Even the Irilians might be interested, if we market it to them properly. With difficulty, I forced myself back to cold, hard practicality.

“You’re forgetting two things, Perschal,” I said, holding out two fingers and ticking them off methodically. “One, there are several monsters who view Naralik as their home…”

“Yeah, but we can just hire some mercenaries and go kill them off…” Perschal’s voice trailed off as he realised what he was saying.

“… and two, they are unkillable,” I finished. Perschal hung his head in despondency. I shook my head in disgust as well. It was a brilliant idea, but the curse had changed our normal way of doing business. Mercenaries and roving guardsmen had begun charging higher prices for their services, and now we had to maintain a constant guard on all of our projects, since they could fall prey at any time to the never-ending hordes of undying monsters roaming the continent. That added considerable amounts to the running costs of any project.

“Darn it, and it was such a good idea, too,” Perschal said sadly, nursing his beer mug. I glanced over at him. Perschal was mercurial in nature. One minute he was as high as the sky, and the next minute he would sink down into the lower depths of the ocean. I needed to cheer him up again before he went depressive on me.

I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “Well, don’t worry about it too much,” I said kindly. “It would have worked very well in another age, but we’ve got to adapt to the times, old boy. New situations call for new ways of doing business!”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Perschal started to brighten up.

“And that’s why we love it so much, don’t we?” I cried, thumping the table. “That’s what we do best! Perschal and Marsley, Entrepreneurs Extraordinaire!”

“Yeah, that’s right! Hey Marsley, listen up! I’ve just thought of another idea…”

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Themes of Eternity: Avarice

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:11:29 +0000

The clerk hastily got out of the way as Stephanie Gower stormed into my office. I sighed inwardly. Not her again. She had been coming every week, running roughshod over my employees and playing havoc with my appointments. I was starting to hate the sight of the woman.

“What do you mean, I can’t take control of the money?” she screeched into my face, waving the letter I had sent her just a few days ago. That was Stephanie for you. No subtlety whatsoever. For the hundredth time, I wondered how on earth she had ever managed to deceive Peter Gower into marrying her.

“My dear Stephanie,” I said placatingly, rising and gesturing for her to sit down in front of me. She ignored my actions and remained standing. “As you know, although Peter did appoint you as regent over his fortune until Stephen comes of age, his will specifies that it would only occur after his death.”

“He’s already dead!” she shouted. “I sent him to Tarsengaard already! The doctors all said that he no longer could be conscious of his surroundings. His mind is already gone! I’m his widow, for Elandria’s sake!”

“Unfortunately, the law does not recognise mental death,” I said coldly, not bothering to hide my dislike of the cold-hearted witch who had married my best friend anymore. “Peter’s will can only come into effect if he has physically died and not resurrected.”

“And, as you are well aware,” I quickly continued, seeing that she was about to screech again. “The curse has now made it impossible to physically permanently die. Therefore, the law holds that you will never be able to be appointed regent over his funds.”

“The law can go to the Underworld!”

I drew myself up. “Thankfully, your opinions are not that of the majority, Mrs. Gower. And until and unless the government and citizens of White Stone pass an amendment to change the laws of inheritance, all of Peter’s fortune will stay safe and sound in the hands of Lawson, Lawson and Co.”

I had warned Peter, of course, when the curse’s effects had first become known. But the old fool was idealistic enough to believe that it would be just a short-term thing and didn’t bother to change any of his legal affairs. But now I praised Aluwen for Peter’s foolishness. It was the only thing that allowed me to still preserve his fortune for his rightful heir’s usage. Stephen was only six years old. It would be a decade and a half before he reached his age of majority. Unolas only knew what that woman could do in that time, with the money that Peter had saved.

“You’re just conspiring to keep it for your family, aren’t you?” she screamed, pointing a finger accusingly at me. “Yes, you and your precious sister. It’s all a big plot to throw me out into the gutter, penniless! I, who slaved over that man for four years, washing him and taking care of him and even sleeping with him! You want that money for yourselves!”

My cold dislike hardened into bald-faced hatred. Bad enough that this, this floozy had deceived my best friend and brother-in-law into taking her in after my sister had passed away. Worse still that she treated Stephen, my nephew, as barely more than a servant. But to hear her disparage the memory of my sister and the man she had loved in my very presence was too much.

“Leave now, immediately,” I cut her ranting off, barely able to control myself from hitting her. “I will not stand for your insults anymore, Stephanie Gower. You will either leave now of your own accord, or I will have you forcibly removed from the premises.” I pointed at the door, my face set in granite.

She stared at me in shock for a moment, then twisted her face into a grimace of hatred. “Don’t think you’ve won, Lawson. I’ll be back again, and this time with my own lawyers. We’ll change your damned inheritance laws, even if I have to batter on Lord Luxin’s castle door myself!”

With that, she flounced out of the room in a huff. Suddenly feeling drained of all energy, I slumped back into my chair. Why did I let her get to me so much? That woman always rubbed me the wrong way. I looked at the miniature portrait on my desk. Peter and Juliette were smiling happily, with the newborn Stephen in their arms. If only the curse had arrived two years earlier, none of this would have happened. Juliette would still have been alive, and Peter would not have had his nerves completely shot to pieces having to live with that vicious, money-grubbing harpy.

“Rest well, you old coot,” I told his smiling face. “You couldn’t stand up to her, but I can. I’ll protect your fortune as long as it takes for your son and heir to grow up. I won’t let that woman get her hands on it, no matter what.”

Sighing, I turned away from the portrait and started looking over my legal notes. She would be back, no doubt. I had best be prepared for the battle when she came again.

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Themes of Eternity: Betrayal

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:11:09 +0000

When I awoke, my first thoughts were of Liselle. The bride of my youth, the flower in my heart. I was happy to find out that she was still alive, and it had only been four years since my death. I rejoiced at the new lease of life that I had been given – a life that I could now enjoy with my love. Quickly, I ran back to my village, where I was sure to find Liselle, still staying in the house that we had first moved into as newlyweds, the house that I had built with my own hands during our long betrothal.

I arrived at dusk, and there were the villagers returning from their fields, but I avoided them at the moment. I wanted the first one to see my resurrected self to be Liselle. Quickly, I hurried under the cover of gathering nightfall to the little cottage at the edge of the woods.

When I arrived, I was a little surprised to find the house empty. However, Liselle’s shoes were at the doorstep, and a pot of stew had been left to boil over a merry little fire, so I surmised that she had only left for a short while. She must have gone into the woods, as she was often wont to do. I remember how we had many such walks among our beloved trees during our courtship.

I strode through the trees, delighting in the memories that flowed back to me through the mists of time. Love had made this a hallowed place, love had brought me back even from death to be at her side again. I could not wait to see Liselle and wrap her in my arms.

Hark! There she was! But what was she doing? And who was that man beside her? I could only see his back, as they were both facing away from me. I was puzzled and curious. Something stirring within me warned me not to approach them carelessly, so I carefully muted my footfalls and sneaked close enough to overhear their conversation.

Liselle was kneeling down, putting flowers in front of a gravestone. Straining, I managed to make out the words on the epitaph and was surprised to find my name there. That was my grave! That was where I had been buried. I was pleased that Liselle had chosen to bury me in the woods that we loved, instead of the horrible decrepit village cemetery.

“Jonathan,” Liselle was saying. “The time I spent with you was truly a precious memory to me. They will be memories that I will always cherish.” I was warmed to hear my love speak of our moments together. “But,” she continued. “That’s what they are – just memories now. I’ve spent four years mourning you. It’s time for me to move on.”

She paused for a second. The man put his hand on her shoulder and drew her to his side. Abruptly, I recognised him as my dear friend Sidney. But what was he doing to my wife?

“Sidney has been very kind to me, in all those years that you’ve gone,” Liselle continued. “And I’ve grown to love him as well. So…”

“So we ask for your blessing on our wedding,” Sidney interjected softly. “We hope you’ll watch over us from afar and rejoice that we’ve found happiness again.”

WHAT was THIS?!

I reeled back in shock, my mind spinning. My best friend and my wife were getting married? How could they? How could they do this to me?

Absently, I realised that Liselle and Sidney had gotten up and were beginning to walk back towards me, arm-in-arm. They stopped for a kiss, and my lips and heart burned like fire. Liselle’s eyes were shining – shining like the way they did when they had looked into mine. Shining at Sidney. I couldn’t stand to see anymore, so I fled blindly into the woods, my aching heart a wellspring of tears that continued to blur my vision.

Why? Why did I come back, if it was only to see my wife in the arms of another man?

What did I do to deserve this? How could she have forgotten me so easily? How dare Sidney betray me and steal my wife?

The longer I thought, the darker my mind became. The day had faded away into night, and the darkness aided my brooding. Inside, I could feel all the love I had for Liselle slowly crumble into ashes, and a rising tide of hatred began to build up. This wedding must not happen. They did not deserve to have happiness without me. How dare they!

I stayed in the darkening woods, plotting my revenge.

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Themes of Eternity: Compassion

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:10:34 +0000

The man’s screams were grating on my nerves. For Unolas’ sake, it was only flame! Nothing to get too excited about. Fire magic was commonplace. Now, if I had been really exotic, I could have tried Meyerham’s Festering Pimples of Acidic Pus. That would have been worth screaming about.

Finally, the screams extinguished and the burning figure collapsed onto the floor. I checked the timepiece. One minute and twelve seconds. That’s how long it took for him to die. I gestured, and the pair of apprentices moved into the room to sweep the floor clean. They avoided the spot where the charred remains of the criminal were slowly vanishing.

“Well?” I asked, over the mental link to Pythias.

“I say, N’tala, what did you do to him? The poor wretch is still screaming down here in horror,” Pythias complained.

“So he didn’t permanently vanish after all? Drat. That’s another option gone.” I was feeling frustrated. We had been working for ten days now, experimenting on criminals and convicts, to try and find a magic spell that would be able to bypass the curse’s resurrective power.

“Nope. In fact, he seems to be more alive than ever, from the volume of noise he’s making here in the underworld,” Pythias said.

“Well, hurry up and teleport him back to his cell up here,” I said, letting some of my irritation show. “I don’t want to waste any more time than necessary.”

“Umm… maybe we should wait a while and let this fellow calm down,” Pythias said doubtfully. “We don’t have many mentally-stable test subjects left, and I want to preserve them for as long as possible.”

The apprentices were bringing in the next subject, who was whimpering and trying to wrench himself out of their grasp. I gestured in irritation and cast a mild stunner spell to render him unconscious for ten seconds. They quickly dumped him on the testing grounds and evacuated into the safety chambers.

“Whatever,” I said absently to Pythias. “Just make sure he’s ready to go by the time I finish off my supply of bodies. I’m about to start on another one now.”

“Oh no, wait! I haven’t had time to prepare yet!” Pythias was sounding flustered. I ignored him and looked down at the huge tome in front of me. 3,782 spells left to go. I scanned the list, and found one that caught my eye. Oh heck, why not?

“Meyerham’s Festering Pimples of Acidic Pus!”

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Themes of Eternity: Serenity

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 05:07:04 +0000

I sit cross-legged on the platform on top of my tree and breathe in deeply. The morning winds carry with them the sounds of a world awakening to life again. Oak and ash, hazel and pine… all the scents of the forest envelop me. Petals drift along the breeze from the flower fields of Grahms’ Village. A briny smell of fresh fish arises from Lakeside, where the night fishermen have just returned home. Furnaces and forges stir to roaring life again as White Stone City’s blacksmiths begin their work.

All is well with the world today.

After a short paean of thanksgiving to our goddess, I regretfully climb down from my meditation perch and enter into the hubbub of daily life. My lifemate greets me with a warm kiss, and we have breakfast together before I leave for the council meetings. As I walk through the village, I nod and smile at the elvenfolk going to and fro through the hallowed paths of Tirnwood.

“Good morning, Elder!” the young maiden calls out from where she is arranging flowers on the doorsteps of her abode.

“It is going to be a good day, Elder!” the huntsman waves as he sets off to chase his prey.

Feeling a rare spirit of mischief stir up in me, I decide to take the less-travelled path to the council hall, hoping to find a little adventure to stir up memories of my youth. It is only a short while until I come across a little elfling crying in the long grasses by the roadside.

“Why, whatever is the matter, child?” I ask gently, for the girl was weeping terribly. She turns teary eyes up at me and sobs.

“Elder, Dewdrop is gone…” she sniffles. “I for-for-forgot to tie him up last night and this morning… waaah!” She bursts into tears again as she holds up a tattered and torn bridle, stained with blood. I see. The deer must have wandered into the hunting grounds of a wolf. Poor creature.

“Hush, child,” I say comfortingly, putting my arms around her. “Do not be sad. Dewdrop has just taken part of the cycle of life.”

“But… but a wolf got her…” she wailed, burying her tear-stained face into my robes.

“Don’t worry, dear child, Dewdrop is not lost forever,” I murmur into her hair. “She will return to you. That is the gift of life promised to us by our great mother Aluwen.”

Slowly, the child’s sobs die out and she turns her eyes up to look at me again. “Really?” she asks.

I smile down at her. “Yes, really. Have your parents not told you? None of us will truly leave this world. Even if she is eaten for nourishment by the wolf, Dewdrop will return to you, just like she was before.”

Standing up, I pat her on the head and use my robes to wipe her face. “Now go back to your parents, childling. I promise you, by the end of the day, Dewdrop will return to your home… that is, if she is well-trained,” I say, slightly teasingly.

“Of course she is,” the girl huffs, seeming to forget that her well-trained deer ran off when she wasn’t tied. No matter. The deer will return when it needs shelter. They always do – those that are bound by elvenkind.

“Then go home, and make preparations to receive her back again,” I say, shooing her towards the village. She smiles and prances along, cheered by the notion of her pet’s imminent return. Such a happy youth, unaware of the deeper burdens that Aluwen’s gift has placed on our society. I watch her until she has disappeared from the path, the picture of innocence.

The day passes quickly, as the council meets to discuss the issues affecting the village and the lands. At the end of the day, as I walk through the village again, I feel the burdens of the last few hours being lifted by the sight of a magnificent sunset. Aluwen still cares for her children.

The hunter returns, loaded with game. “I told you it was going to be a good day, Elder!” he says with a grin.

The maiden at the doorstep has finished her arrangements, and flowers of all shapes and sizes bloom around her house. It is a beautiful sight to behold.

And as I pause at my front door to look back at the village, I see a little elf girl, walking side by side with a bridled deer. She waves at me and smiles, hugging the deer.

Yes, all is well with the world today.

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Themes of Eternity: Futility

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 04:57:53 +0000

“Here they come again!” Cortix cried. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was ruffled. His armor was beginning to rust, and he smelt like a pigsty. He hadn’t had any decent sleep for five days.

Neither had we.

It was the fifth day of the new goblin offensive, and I hoped it would be over soon. Looking around, I could see the weary members of my unit picking themselves up and hastily getting into battle formation. It had been raining for three days, and the ground below the fort was covered in low-lying fog. Perfect time for a sneak attack. Except for the fact that we had a diviner on our side who could tell when they were coming and give us enough warning to prepare.

You would think that after eighteen sorties the gobs would give up.

But when you knew you couldn’t die, I guess even goblins would get brave enough to attack a stockade guarded by heavily-armed soldiers. Or so the theory went, anyway. Some people believed that they were just too stupid to know when to quit.

A faint rustle sounded through the mist, and immediately my battle instincts took over. Two arrows went flying through the air, and were met with a shriek of pain. One down…

Realising their cover had been blown, the goblins gave a roar and charged forward. We mowed them down as fast as we could, shooting arrow after arrow at the vague figures darting around in the mist. All too soon, they were raising ladders to breach the ramparts and climbing fast.

A ladder landed near me. I hastened to push it off, but was met by a hail of stones and arrows, preventing me from getting close. On the other side of the ladder, Kilsay was hit in the neck and fell off the wall. I wondered if that scar on his left arm would disappear this time, when he came back tomorrow. Robert and I had a bet on it. You never returned exactly the same. Sometimes a scar would disappear, sometimes a lock of hair would be gone, sometimes old wounds would reappear. Every time you died and resurrected again, your body would be just a little different, though your mind would be the same. Robert and I had bets on how everyone would look the next time they came back. Kilsay’s scar was big money.

Damn. I had let myself get distracted in the middle of the fight. The lack of sleep was beginning to tell on me. Already, the first goblin had ascended the ladder and was charging at me with his scimitar. I quickly drew my sword and blocked a strike that would have swept my head off. The goblin growled at me and bared his teeth. His breath stank of alcohol.

It was the wine, of course. The whole tribe was insanely addicted to wine. Whenever their supplies began to run low, they would mount punitive raids on the winery to get a few casks. Every raid, they managed to steal just a little bit more, enough to continue their drunken revelries.

Vesine and Latis had been safely evacuated a long time ago, when we first got word that the goblins were on the prowl again. Caladak only contained the garrison now. And we had been fighting for five days straight, through day and night raids. Glydoc knows when it would stop. Probably only when the chiefs decided that they had enough to last them until the next month or so.

I drew my dirk with my free hand and tore a hole in my goblin’s guts. That snarl of ferocity quickly changed into astonishment, then disbelief, and then slumped into defeat. I kicked the corpse off the rampart. It would disappear by the end of today, anyway. Bloody, useless drunks, fighting a meaningless war to get more liquor. I spat at the falling body.

That cost me. Before I could recover, I saw another scimitar flashing down at my face from the goblin that had come up after the first. It was too late to dodge, so I braced myself to take it. A line of fire drew itself deep across my face into my skull.

Ouch. That’s going to hurt tomorrow, I thought as I died. There was no regret, no sense of loss, merely resignation. Death no longer had any meaning for me. It was nothing but one of a hundred experiences that made up a soldier’s life, a facet of that kaleidoscope of futile battles in an endless war. I die today, but tomorrow I shall live once again.

Tomorrow, the meaningless cycle will begin anew.

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Themes of Eternity: Madness

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 04:54:00 +0000

Ha HA ha HEE HEE hoo! Die, die, I cannot die!
No matter what they do to me, I cannot die!
They cut and shock and slash and drown, I cannot die!
They beat and choke and strike and flame, I cannot die!

Girls, girls, lovely girls! They cannot die!
I hunt and catch and bruise and rape, they cannot die!
They fear and run and fall and scream, they cannot die!
I prowl and lick and tear and rip, they cannot die!

Men, men, awful men! They will not die!
They shout and chase and guard the chaste, they will not die!
They judge and lock and jail and starve, they will not die!
But no matter what they do to me, I cannot die!

Ha HA HEE hee HOO! Die, die, I cannot die!
No matter what they do to me, I cannot die!
I cannot die, I CANNOT DIE!

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Themes of Eternity: Gloom

Joshua — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 04:52:07 +0000

Another one was carried in and laid to rest on one of the beds. I sighed, looking along the rows of figures lying sleeping in the semi-darkness. The two apprentices who had carried the body in looked apprehensively at me, and then quickly sidled out of the room while I checked on the newcomer.

He was an old man – of human descent, as they almost invariably are. The writing on the parchment scroll attached to his tunic was too dark to read, so I cast a simple fire spell to light up the room. Shadows and flickers fill the ward, hinting at creatures unknown, hiding in the aether. I barely paid any attention to them. After a year and a half of working under these conditions, you learn to set aside all the old wives’ tales. You had to. You’d go insane if you didn’t.

The old man – Arthur Prenderton – had fallen ill some time ago. He was nearly fourscore and eighteen years old, a ripe old age for a human. His only family was a poor woodcutter who lived on the outskirts of Morcraven Marsh. He could not afford to take care of his father any longer, and had sent him to White Stone for interning.

Interning. That’s what they called it. Interring might have been a better word. They were all but dead, these old people. No family who could take care of them, in frail health, hanging by a thread to a life they could not leave. When Lord Luxin had announced that he would open the coffers of White Stone to help aid those that had dependents, we did not expect such numbers to come pouring in.

The old. The sick. The crippled. All those who could not work, or support themselves in some way. Who were doomed to a life that was not worth living in an age of immortals. Those that would die, and then reappear again in the same condition that they were in before. There was no cure for old age – not even reincarnation. They died as old, they wandered the underworld as old, and they came back to the lands of the living as old as they left it.

So they were sent here, to Tarsengaard. We erected a magic aura over the wards, laced with healing and regenerative energies. It was not strong enough to nullify the effects of the curse, but it could keep the people here on this side of the border between life and death. Just enough. Just enough to stay alive.

At least we could save them the harrows of walking through the worlds beyond death.

This ward. The ward next to it. And the wards beyond that, above and below. The apprentices were already forced to share only one room between them, squeezed in like fish in a barrel. The Masters exerted themselves to maintain the spells and search for a remedy.

And we journeymen? We were forced to take care of those that could not take care of themselves. Over by the window, Arlene Loksbane waved a feeble hand, and I went over to her side. The Orchan lady was hungry again. I went over to the pot and got the gruel. Carefully, I spooned gruel from a bowl into her mouth. It was all we could afford to give her. This year’s harvest had not been good. The warehouses were empty, and there was only so much the Masters could do to make food.

Once Arlene was satisfied, I patted her bed down and emptied the remains back into the pot. Waste not, want not. Every scoop of gruel counted. The flickering shadows continued to follow me as I made the rounds, checking on each patient. Some were stirring fitfully, some were quietly weeping to themselves at the ingratitude of their offspring. Most of them just wanted to rest – forever, if they could.

I finished the rounds and sat back at my desk near the entrance. It was growing late. Dusk was drawing near. They would want to go to sleep soon. I extinguished the fire spell, and the room was enveloped in darkness. They liked it better that way. Light and life were growing too wearisome for them to handle.

I sat in the darkness alone, watching over the souls of those who could not die.

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