Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

AMBLESIDE'S GRAVEYARD was quiet, but it was very, very far from empty.

It brimmed with lost souls. Their shadowy, indistinct outlines filled the yard.

They were perched on headstones, clustered on plinths in great groups, lying across the grass where there were not graves available, and huddled on the steps of the small church. He even spied some draped over the branches of the naked-limbed cherry trees, over by what appeared to be a gardener's shed.

And every single one of the souls was fast asleep.

‘Christ, what is this?' he whispered.

His arrival pushed at the heavy air, like a sea breeze at a sail, and a hum moved through the prone ghosts as their ethereal forms shifted. That strange wave of motion came again, as the souls he guided moved into the graveyard immediately behind him.

There were gasps, soft cries and even a sob. But not a one of them was uttered in any distress.

Rather, they sounded in awe.

Oh Silas…it is beautiful. Claudia gasped.

Is it heaven?

Close enough, my friend, close enough.

A long drawn out sigh came, loud enough that it seemed more than one of the souls was involved in the sound.

Silas frowned, dragging his gaze from the carpet of slumbering souls. He turned; to find all but one of his curious gang of ghosts had fallen fast asleep.

Thank you, ankou.

He was not certain who it was that remained to address him. The robustness of their shadow suggested one of the men, but he had no time for questions. The soul sank to the ground, adding their darkness to the low mound of those who had already succumbed to the strange sleep that held the entire graveyard. Their forms were a pile in front of the open gate, taking up one of the last remaining spaces he could see in the entire yard.

A squeak drew his attention. Scuttling out from a hole down near the base of the church doors, the church grim made an appearance. A white form that darted so quickly he wasn't quite certain what the creature was, until it drew nearer. Despite having only three legs, the white ferret moved at quite the clip, slipping up and over the array of prone forms that separated it from where Silas stood. Its yew-berry-red eyes fixed on him.

He crouched to meet it, extending his arm to allow it to scamper up and find a place upon his shoulder. If he were not mistaken there was something of a relieved air about the creature.

‘Have you been waiting for me?' He received the nuzzle of a wet, cold nose behind his ear in reply. ‘What is going on here?'

He was expecting no reply from the ferret; even Forneus had never managed such a feat.

‘We have gathered them for you.'

Silas whirled about, spinning so quickly his passenger hissed, digging in tiny claws.

Herbert stood by the central grave, the most elaborate in the yard. The headstone was shaped like a small temple, with a weeping angel upon its top, covered in so much lichen it looked as though the wings truly were feathered. Two lost souls lay together on the length of its stone base, clasped hands discernible, despite their blurry forms.

‘Herbert? Gracious, what are you doing here at this hour?' The boy wore no coat, and to Silas's horror, no shoes either. ‘Christ, you'll freeze if –'

‘Do not concern yourself with that,' the boy said, in a voice entirely unlike his own. ‘He feels none of it.'

Silas's eyes widened. ‘Izanami?'

‘Take your succour, ankou. You must replenish what was lost.'

‘My succour? What is happening here? Was it you who summoned all these souls?'

‘Against the law of things, yes.'

‘Why? Do you wish me to send all of them on?'

‘You overestimate yourself, ankou. The strength is not in you.'

Silas swallowed. ‘No…it is not.' A terrible thought struck him. ‘Is this my end too? Are you here for me?' He shook his head, and took a step back. ‘I will not go, yet, Izanami. I will not leave him. It is not yet done, and we are so close.'

‘Calm yourself. I do not take you from him yet.'

Silas balled his fists, the scythe vibrating in his curled fingers. He refused to think too deeply on that single word, yet. There was an abyss of sadness in its simple form. ‘Then tell me what it is you seek here.'

‘You two Horsemen are close indeed. Which makes the Blight grow ever stronger in defiance. Its reach stretches ever wider, and gathers those it taints in greater number. I have made an exception to my involvement here, and have gathered many of my lost children, so that you might be made exceptional.' Herbert lifted an arm, and swept it to indicate the entirety of the graveyard. There was darkness on his palms, dirt perhaps. ‘You push at your boundaries, Silas Mercer.'

A new panic gripped him. ‘I am tired, but I am not done for. I can see this through. I'm certain. What can you do for me?'

The question was bold, perhaps stupidly so. Who was he to demand anything from Death? But then, he'd done so once and come out victorious. Sybilla lived to prove it.

Herbert smiled, but it somehow held none of the vivacity of the boy himself. ‘There will come a time when your stubbornness shall no longer amuse me. I am fickle that way.'

‘So long as it is not today.' Silas's pulse thumped unkindly, sick with the notion he might have stepped into his own grave here.

‘It is not today.'

‘Then tell me what I must do.' Herbert shivered hard, and Silas knew that death had lied to him. ‘The boy feels you there. He is in pain.'

‘He is human. To feel pain is in their nature. You know that.'

‘But his pain is not natural, nor necessary.'

‘Neither is your daemon's. Shall you reprimand the one who made it so…as you reprimand your goddess?' Herbert's teeth rattled against one another. The boy's fingertips were dark in the gloom. Frozen black.

‘Forgive me.' Silas moved closer, hands lifted in supplication, while his inner thoughts raged. He would throttle the angel who had confined Pitch to such a fate, if given half the chance. ‘Tell me, quickly, I beg you. What must be done?'

Herbert tilted his head, and with the misalignment of his eyes it seemed as though he did not look at Silas at all. ‘You take your fill.'

‘Of what? I need you to speak plainly.'

Herbert turned, and walked through the headstones and sleeping souls, towards the shed by the cherry tree. Silas followed, trying not to tread upon the hordes of quiet dead, even though he doubted they'd feel it if he did so. Not a one of them moved as he passed by.

‘Come. You will lie with the dead.'

On the far side of the cherry tree, hidden by the girth of its trunk until now, was an open grave. A shovel jutted from the pile of freshly dug earth, its pale handle marked in places with darker patches.

Herbert's hand raised once more, and Silas cursed beneath his breath, as understanding came in a horrid wave. That was not dirt there at all, darkening his palms. It was blood.

There on the handle of the shovel too. Skin broken by the laborious digging of this deep grave.

The revulsion was almost enough to sway Silas from thoughts of what had been said. Lie with the dead.

The ferret rubbed against his neck, impossibly soft, and strangely comforting. Giving him the courage he needed to speak his next question. ‘I am to return to my grave?'

‘And find renewed life among the dead.' Herbert's shoulders twitched, his head jerking to one side. ‘The child falters.'

‘Let him go. It is enough.'

‘Get in the grave, then it will be enough.'

The hole made for him was wide but not deep. This was not designed for the bulk of a coffin, with a substantial depth for mourners to cast their fistfuls of dirt into. Silas stepped down into the hole. It was like stepping into a deep tub, his thighs level with the grass. He moved quickly, so his fears would not impede him. There was no time for them now, no place for them to grow. Silas sat down in his grave.

‘What must I do? To be strong enough?'

Herbert was unsteady as the goddess squatted him down onto his haunches. ‘Take off your clothes.'

‘What?' Silas spluttered. ‘That is not –'

‘Let nothing come between you and this earth. Do as I say.'

‘At least turn the boy away.' Silas rose, and pulled his shirt over his head.

‘They own the same parts as you.'

‘But they are his own. There is no need to traumatise the boy further.'

‘Stop talking and shed your clothing. You grow tiresome. The boy will remember none of this.'

With a scowl Silas pulled off his trousers, regretting his decision not to hunt for a pair of drawers when he was dressing. Once his boots were removed he was utterly naked, but only Herbert's exposure to it concerned him. There was neither time nor place for bashfulness otherwise.

Silas sat down with knees raised, covering himself. Herbert crouched once more and picked up a handful of earth, letting it trickle onto Silas's toes.

‘You will strengthen here, but does the vessel know what fortitude he shall require for his task?'

Silas's scowl returned. ‘Pitch understands very well the burden he carries.'

‘But can he shoulder it as he must? I am not obliged to send you, my Pale Horseman, to the Lady of the Lake. You are mine, first and foremost.' In all that had been said through the young man's mouth, this sounded least human of all; the infinite reach of death was there in the sombre, unnerving sound. ‘And if Death is better served in keeping you here, where you can alleviate the imbalance caused by the Blight, then so I shall keep you.'

Silas ran cold with fury. The scythe sparked against his skin. He reached up and touched at Herbert's chin, gently so as not to harm the fragile human, but pointedly, so the inhuman presence within knew Silas unafraid.

‘For all your might, my goddess, you and I are unable to restore the balance lost because of Blood Lake and its halo. We merely defend against it, whilst Pitch has the power to destroy that blasted thing entirely. The power and the ability.' Silas released the goddess-touched boy. ‘I have served you well, and long. Do not think to keep me from him. Or must I remind you that I have brought about the downfall of one goddess, already?'

He'd gone too far with such a threat. But his fatigue, his fear, his utter sick and tiredness of being at the mercy of others was done with.

Silas held the goddess's gaze. There was a disquieting blueness at Herbert's lips when Izanami spoke at last.

‘The centuries have not eroded your resilience, ankou. There was always so much humanity in you. Life makes such resolute creatures, defiant even in the face of utter certainty.' The boy's head turned, taking in the mass of slumbering souls. ‘Let us hope your daemon is as stalwart as humankind.'

‘There is no one more valiant.'

When Herbert turned back, his eyes were aglow, entirely silver.

‘Time shall tell.'

Silas gestured to his discarded shirt. ‘Please, cover the boy. It is too cold for him here.'

Silver eyes blinked. And Herbert reached for the shirt, shrugging himself into a measure of material that was far too big for him.

Silas laid down in the grave. It's length and width were generous. He had no sense of being enclosed. There was room to spread his arms out from his sides a little, though he preferred to continue to cover himself for the moment. He stared up at a sharply clear sky; stars were spread like scattered diamonds, with the pearly curve of the moon perched amongst them.

‘Do you understand what it is that the Blight truly craves, my ankou?' Herbert spoke with a timbre no mere boy should possess. ‘What it hungers for and does not have?'

Silas exhaled; a long bloom of white air. And he saw the answer right there, in the twist of his breath. ‘Life. It has no life.'

‘Clever man.' Herbert took another fistful of dirt and let it rain down upon Silas's belly. The warmth was luscious. Welcome. ‘For death to have true power, there must be life. That is what the Blight seeks. But life is too strong for that dark power when she is ripe and full of youth. The Blight preys instead upon the shreds still to be found in lost souls. Those misguided among the dead who think they can ignore my call. Now you must take your fill of what little life remains with them, and use their great number to renew yourself. '

Silas tore his gaze from the jewelled sky. ‘Will these souls suffer for it?'

‘They shall not wake whilst you reap. And when it is done they shall have no choice but to follow me. This is their last day as a lost soul. As this is your last taste of life, Silas Mercer.'

He did not falter, did not look away. ‘I understand.' He had one final concern upon his mind. ‘Would you make sure that –'

‘That the prince does not think himself alone?' Herbert leaned over the grave, and the goddess brushed her fingers against Silas's cheek. ‘Your only fault these centuries past has been to retain far too much of your human heart. The vessel will be told that he is not abandoned. Now rest, Horseman. Drink of these fading lives, so that you might revive and see us through to restoring the balance lost.'