Pontifex Caelicius, I am not certain whether or not you can hear me or simply regard me as someone unworthy of your attention, but I desired to speak to you. Other priests avoid your presence master, where all should be envious. I volunteered to watch over you, keep you safe. All have avoided such a task, but I will not. You were born once more; certainly it is a blessing of Samael. Certainly your state of eternal life is something all of us should strive for.
The city of your rebirth, my Pontifex, have… had… a rich history. Perhaps not as rich as Eldergate, but too many historians, it seems, have still failed to give it credit. All except Rusus, that is. He reported that in the city of Upper Ermor, if a man died of unknown causes, most likely a disease, they made a great pyre in the middle of the city and set it ablaze so that smoke would drift upwards for a year so that traveling merchants would know to either send aid or impose a cordon of protection around for years until whatever pestilence that besieged the city died, along with its hosts.
He also recorded that, when the first Pontifex resigned from his post at age of 87, he came to that city, travelling by foot and rejecting all companions. They say that all the creatures of the earth and the sky came to keep him company during his journey.
How bored he must have been at their chatter.
Upon arriving at the city, he opened his arms wide to the sky, and they say a tower rose in the middle of the city to serve as his home. He went into the tower and never left it. They say that he died 30 years after because of a fever, after which the tower disappeared.
The citizens left offerings of food and other necessities for him, but he never took any during his life. Apparently he regarded them as unworthy of his attention. I have left my own offerings at the foot of the temple, but like them I seemed to be unworthy of the First’s attention. Perhaps now all that remains of the city is a smoking ashes of the world’s largest pyre, he will find more peace.
But how can he compare to your devotion, my lord? He may have extended his life to such an incredible extent… but you came back from the dead to serve our own lord for eternity! It is sad that others have yet to fully realize your loyalty. They claim to see it, but they fail to worship it.
This way, my lord. Hold my hand. I will lead you out this door.
The city is gearing up for an invasion, my lord. All the men and women of the city know this. We are all doing what we can to defend ourselves, but it seems that it is likely that there can be only one ending to this tale if our gambit fails. There’s a certain poetry to the situation that we found ourselves in. We, mired in warfare, are being led to our slow deaths.
But Samael taught us that it was not acceptance and awaiting for death that was awarded. Be careful, my lord! There are stairs about. The barracks for the new recruits are just down the street from here: they moved it up here to the Citadel in this state of emergency. What is awarded, however, is action, determination. If you do not take a risk, you will earn nothing. Can we break free from our fate?
All I know is that the incarnation of our final fate, the Reaper, is on our side.
Allow me to be your eyes, guide, interpreter, and the crutch, milord.
If luck is on our side, there will not be a low-lying stone that avoided my gaze nor will there be a dead body. You there, guards, follow us!
Look at how they hesitate, milord. Is it not sickening? They call themselves temple guards, yet they hesitate to actually defend what is important. My son did not hesitate to defend this nation.
…He died last year, when the undead revolted against us. We do not know the reason… but there it was. Those who oppose Samael would steal from the powers of the Underworld in order to further their plans against us. His body came back last week. Between fire and soil, I chose fire, like the Upper Ermorians. It seemed to be much more contemporary of the options. I could not bear the thought of such a ruin being reassembled. Reattach the femur to the hip. Chart a line of thread like the mapmaker’s ink. Make it all pretty and acceptable for tearful aunts and uncles. I just could not. Burn it all, I said. Reduce the body all to ashes.
I returned home after the funeral with a pocket full of stolen ashes. Half of it fell out of my pockets and was mixed with the cobblestones of the streets. The rest I kept in a bottle somewhere inside my house. It’s never intended to mean as a talisman, but I cannot simply give it away or scatter it either.
But I do not regret sending the boy to the army, Pontifex. When the boy died, I am sure that his last thoughts were of his betrothed, and not about the pain of the rusted sword that pierced his heart. I know that when I die, my last thoughts will be of him. We are at the doorway, I shall open it for you, Bridgemaker.
After all, is it not love that is the true message of Samael? But it is difficult, I would imagine, for Samael to inspire such emotions. She is too detached, her image vilified for such a long time. It is for us to lead and to inspire hope for all. Together, we will accomplish this feat. Perhaps one day, even these dark times will bring forth pleasure in remembering.
