The Stained Tower

Riding atop my storage sumpter, I move through the chamber pot tunnels attempting to retrace my steps. I am in a bit of a hurry as I now only have so many sable copepods remaining to fuel my antics. Not to mention, it’s only a matter of time before insects start returning; I have already seen a few of the more minor, mouser-sized bugs scavenging the cooked carcasses that litter the ceiling. Hence I need to retrieve Nick before the charred floors cool enough for the bigger ones to join them in their feasts.

While I have this traveling lull, I fiddle with Mithridates’s crossbow. It’s quite a strange device and far more intricate than Proximo’s Pickaxe, likely because Mithridates had time to grow it with adaptations. Unfortunately, it seems to require a particular variety of darts or bolts of a specific size as they are slid into a fixed slot at the crossbow’s tail. Assuming it does not reload on its own, which it appeared to do for Mithridates, but Earl has already informed me that Kiln armaments are at their most potent in the hands of their Kiln. It may have lost capabilities with the destruction of Mithridates.

Securing the crossbow behind me, I glance up to find the first boat. The way these boats are assembled is different than those I learned about in Mithridates’s memories. These do not have holes for the head, arms, or legs, though one arm does hang out the side of all of them. I believe that is merely to allow the flies a means of escape.

Yet, I find that though the boat still bobs about as usual, the spirits that sat atop their hulls have vanished. Stopping the sumpter, I deliberate on what I should do about these terrible constructs now. ‘The likelihood that someone will attempt to recover these corpses is exceedingly low. Monsterous bugs, a bog, and I doubt many of their loved ones even know they are here. That means my choices are, neglect them, burn the body, or leave it and perhaps have someone retrieve them in the future...’

After a swift inspection, I do not open the boat. Instead, I lift the deceased arm, remove a piece of jewelry from their finger or wrists, and then push the arm into the boat. Then, I take the crowbar and thrust it down on a lip between the twin boats.

The boat cracks, and they slam shut, perfectly fitted to one another. It was much easier than earlier, which confirms Mithridates’s nodes have lost their resistance. I return the crowbar to the sumpter and then face the floating coffin.

With the jewelry between my palms, I pray for the forlorn body, soul, and spirit. However, I pray to no one in particular as I know not who I should pray to after experiencing Tenebrous. If I had to speculate, the prayer goes nowhere and finds its way to no one. At least I hope it does not, as if it did, then I presume it would be listened to by a wholly evil monster.

Finishing my prayer, I return to the sumpter and push ahead, only stopping at each boat to take a piece of jewelry, remove the split between boats, and say a small prayer.

This continues for three more boats until I come upon a small set of boats hovering atop the water alone. Approaching, I move toward my fairy sword that lies precisely as I left it. 

The storage sumpter walks to my side, and I take the crowbar from its back and push it between the crack in the twin boats that are perfectly fitted together. ‘It is time to go, Nick. I shall walk thee home.’

One boat slides off from the other with a crack and falls into the water with a splash. The body looks as one might expect… but that’s the only thing that was as I expected. Yet, the first thing I notice is a parchment over the face. I take several steps away from that immediately and allow a few moments to pass to ensure it does not explode. 

When it seems to have no intention of doing such, I re-approach the body. 

There is writing from what is quite clearly several different languages on both the body and the parchment. ‘Earl, doth thou know anything about this spectacle?’

A purple wall appears.

My eye glance at what I presume is the ‘Ethereal,’ and as she says, I can understand it after gazing at it for a moment. ‘Fascinating.’ Then, examining the other three languages, I find that they are all beautiful in their own way, particularly the Blood Language, but they are all hugely foreign. I cannot understand any of them whatsoever. ‘Aye, prithee, sate my curiosity, Earl.’

 The wall vanishes, and a new one takes its place.

Reading what Earl can translate I nod, and then carefully take the parchment in hand. ‘It’s quite beautiful, even if it’s a tad melancholy. I will save it as a curiosity, but I should complete what I came to do.’

I place the parchment on the sumpter and return to inspecting Nick’s body. Examining his wounds further, I find no bruises. That seems to indicate that he did not suffer the fate of Mithridates; he was gone either before or immediately after being placed within. This gives me a touch of comfort. Mithridates death was genuinely appalling and barbaric; it made me ill thinking that it might have been replicated.

‘I am sorry, Nick.’ Taking one of the blankets Lorcan gave me, I toss it over Nick, wrap him in it, and set it atop the sumpter copepod.

My body freezes when a young voice echoes from nearby. “Fairy, I kept your sword safe. It was hard, but I did it.” 

I glance to my right, where Nick stands floating above the water. ‘He is still here!’

“I got tired for a minute, and then something tried to suck me in, but I closed my eyes. So then, I yelled, ‘Not crisp!’ Dad read on the internet that you say that, and when I opened my eyes, it was just me.”

Gripping my sword, I store it on the sumpter while gazing at the boy in wonder. ‘...He resisted the draw of Tenebrous because I asked him to watch my sword?’

“But my head’s starting to feel fuzzy. So I forgot what I was doing and decided to look for you instead….” He pauses as if he’s trying to understand why and then he sighs dramatically and asks, “Can we just go now?”

‘Nick cannot stay here. Though Mithridates’s Domain lingers, I presume its spirit protection is fading. If what Earl has told me is true, Nick will start to lose himself… But where am I supposed to take him? ...There are many Spirit Scribes, ravenous to enslave a spirit, they may try to enslave him. Fairy’s Pantry? Mayhaps… Any place is better than Tenebrous.’ 

Climbing atop the sumpter copepods, I disguise the body with more blankets and then hold it in my arms. I then grab a grenade, much to Nick’s amusement, and toss it into the vacant boat. We watch as the boats quickly catch fire. ‘I shall discuss it with Earl. For now, he may stay in the Tower’s Arcade where he shall be safe behind its door.’ My hand moves to the cage around my kiln. ‘And also, I cannot stand this confining cage any longer! I must have it removed as soon as  I return!’

I signal for Nick to follow. 

He nods enthusiastically at this. “Yay! I’m glad we came to New York to be with the Fairy!” Nick shouts.

Glancing at the boy, I cannot help but shake my head. ‘Regardless of what Nick’s future may hold, he may be one of the more fortunate people in New York. Aye, the boy that told Tenebrous “not crisp.” A bit of a folk tale in and of itself.’ 

Together, the two of us walk home.

---

The night arrives, and with it, the pall of somber melancholy. On this nighttide, both the candlelight vigil and the burial are to take place…

Yet, the burial has grown into something I never expected. 

With the snow being thick and times difficult, people have been unable to bury their dead. Hence, as was common in my time, they had allowed them to freeze in the cold while searching for somewhere appropriate to bury them.

So when a man arrived with a machine to begin digging graves, people began approaching him, requesting that he dig their family member a grave as well. The man could not bring himself to deny any of them. However, there were simply too many, yet when other people heard what was happening, they came to help. Before anyone knew it, hundreds of people, in dead silence, were helping dig up the frozen ground to make graves for everyone that needed one.

That’s why, at this moment, I am standing in the 307th Memorial Grove, the same place I fought the Wretched Rat, and in front of me are sixty-one graves. Nineteen are from the Spider incident, seven from other events, eight from sickness, three from hypothermia, and twenty-four are people who did not survive the haze awakening. Though it was indirect, every person in a grave is there because of me in some way or another. To be frank, this whole thing has caused me to sink into a dreamlike daze. 

Lifting my head, I find a lake of candlelight, hundreds of them, and I am terrified because of something I agreed to do. How I would give anything to forgo it now, but alas, I cannot. I hear the crunch of boots in the snow and look up to find Terra holding an unlit tallow candle for me to take. She says nothing and merely waits for me to take it from her. [1]

I nod and take it.

A second pair of boots crunch in the snow, followed by a gentle light glistening off the snow. The person who carries this light is Scarlett, who we initially thought was the only survivor of the spider incident until we found Emily. To be honest, she planned almost everything. The grave digging, the candlelight, the invitations, organizing the families, she stood high despite her trauma and coordinated all of this.

Scarlett nods and extends her arm that holds a lit tallow candle.

Assuming things have not changed, this candle bears the ‘Church’s Light.’ In a secret location, there is supposed to be the Second Light, also known as the Church’s Light. It’s said to have been kindled using the First Light and was given to man by the God in Light. When a new church is founded, the church will be conferred an oil lamp lit by the Church’s Light. It’s then the Pastors duty to service and fuel the lamp somewhere in their church for occasions such as this one.

I hold my own candle toward Scarlett, and the wick flickers as it is set alight. She repeats this by lighting Terra’s candle. 

Now, if one believes the Church in Light, every candle here is only a few steps removed from the very First Light to ever grace the universe.

With the candles lit, another person joins us, the Church in Light’s Preacher. Stopping, he turns and announces, “Will the families of the departed, please join the Fairy, Speaker, Scarlett, and I.”

The crowds shift about as over a hundred sad, morbid, and bitter faces split from the masses and gather around us. In the distance, the explosion of the army’s bombs echoes.

After the noise subsides, the Preacher continues, “The Church in Light shall be performing the Rite of Pale Passage after the vigil and a few words. Any that would like to stay and mourn are welcome. If anyone of any other religion has any rites of their own, you’re of course free to stay and perform them as well.”

Many of the family members nod and raise some low light lanterns that are a part of the Rite of Pale Passage. Each and every one of them has been made for someone that lies in a grave and is dotted with names, mementos, thoughts, or personal stories of times irretrievable.

The Rite of Pale Passage itself is the hanging and kindling of ‘pale lanterns’ over the body or coffin. These pale lanterns are believed to ward off evil, while likewise, helping balance the departed person’s eyes for when they enter the ‘Last Light.’. So for forty-eight hours, the lanterns are maintained, illuminating every part of the grave in soft light.  Scarlett is among those to volunteer to stay and climb in and out of the graves replenishing the lantern’s tallow candles.

After the rite is completed, any residual wax is melted, spread over the coffin, and the body is then buried alongside the pale lanterns. It’s said that in the end times, the dead will awaken, and to repay the living, they will use the pale lanterns left with them to illuminate the entire world in the pale, waning glow of the First Light.

“Please be aware that this walk will be right at two miles long. Feel free to separate at any time and return here or return to your tent to warm yourself.” The Preacher allows that information to sink in before then saying, “If the family and friends of the deceased are ready, then let the living take one final walk with the departed.”

I glance around; according to tradition, the spirits of the dead are meant to join us for this walk. All I find is Terra peering at me as if scolding me and declaring, “Just turn thy eyes earthward and speak naught.”

With a tiny nod to Terra, the final walk begins.

We pass by Node 8, just south of the Tower, where the Helping Hands prepare something for when we return. For once, the spastic Rabbit says nothing, simply nods the same as everyone else.

Entering Sheep Meadow, through the endless expanse of tents, I can see the hurrying figures of hundreds of people bringing their own lights. Everyone spreads, and from left to right, it becomes as if a river of stars, thousands of candles. I hear a small beep as a few dozen clickers join the vigil for its protection. Remarkably, I do not believe anyone leased them, but then I see the ember of a cigarette and notice Lincoln and Pierce walking off to the side in the dark. 

In the distance, I catch the shadow of Mrs.Yarborough

sitting in a chair gazing out of the medical tent’s door, waiting for her son. Lorcan is being transported to the medical tents soon and Terra will be speaking to her about his condition. I have yet to see him myself.

On our right, we pass Frisbee Hill. The denizens all silence their music and chatter. I hear whispering and look over to find the organization I believe goes by the ‘Winter’s Eternal Brotherhood.’ They move from my sight, disappearing somewhere behind me. A moment later, I notice the snowflakes have stopped falling.

Passing Strawberry Fields, I glance to my left to see sticks of dancing candlelight stumbling toward us from the Hex Church. Though I do not believe it to be the Bishop himself, much of the Hex Church’s congregation and children seem to be amongst the group. Looking to my right, over the frozen lake, I see the flicker of a lantern with a violet flame on Bethesda Terrace. Side by side, I see a girl and the faint outline of a boy—Earl and Nick. At this point, it’s a struggle to perceive Nick as my eyes are almost back to their traditional sable form.

The Pavilion, my Gate of the Rich and Destitute, we pass these locations while being wary of the giant shadows of fish swimming below The Lake’s ice. When we pass by Azalea Pond, we come across King Zero’s camp. They were forced to isolate themselves because they are up pretty much all night. At the edge of the pond, I find the man himself, sitting shirtless in the snow. King Zero lays something on his tongue, raises a bottle of dark liquor, and then pours out every drop before chucking it into a snowdrift. It’s astonishing the man has not died himself with how hard he is trying.

When we pass through Cider Hill, I find myself receiving angry glares and the occasional scoffs. Next door, on Pilgrim Hill, it’s the inverse; there, I receive looks of hope and admiring nods. Regardless, a large portion of both camps join.

Now, not a river, but a sea of people are following behind, tens of thousands of candles in every direction. We pass by the graves one more time, the families and friends of the deceased stop here too; what’s happening next is unnecessary for them to hear; they know better than anyone.

The tens of thousands of people follow us, and when we near where the Helping Hands were working, Owl approaches.

“Miss Nightingale, the Bandshell has been prepared for you, and Wolfe assures me the quill we have been toiling with will operate flawlessly. Though, it’ll only work when it’s hooked up to Wolfe’s computer because it has some pretty special software. Anyway, it’ll work just like your whiteboard, and anything you write will be played through the speakers so…” Owl pauses and looks over the enormous crowd and smiles stiffly. “...So no worries, Miss Nightingale, you’ll do great.”

I nod. ‘Aye, I thank thee, Owl.’

If I hesitate for a second, I might run away, so I move past, and Terra follows. Together the two of us walk up the ‘Bandshell’s’ steps. The Bandshell is a half domed, white marble stage that looks similar to a half oyster shell standing on its side. I have been two a few times now, though this is the first time I knew it was called a Bandshell. [2]

Terra removes a paper and hands it to me. {Here are some things you might want to consider saying. Remember, tell them why you’re speaking first, then state the hard reality, and be blunt. The blunter you are, the more they can’t accuse you in the future.} As if I am about to run away before she finishes speaking, she places her hands on my shoulders. {That being said, use common sense about what you say, and if you get nervous, you can just use what’s on the paper. Oh, and don’t reveal unnecessary things or go into deep detail. That can wait until a better time.}

Glancing at my shoulders, I answer, {Aye. Let us be on with it as I am uncertain thy hands will be able to match the strength of my nerves.}

She laughs softly and releases me. {Okay, okay, everyone’s probably ready to get some rest anyway, and the families need some privacy, so the sooner, the better. And don’t forget, I’ll be right behind you.}

{The prisoner rarely forgets the jailor's existence.}

With that, I enter through a door at the back of the Bandshell. As far as I can see is a fusion of my Tower’s glow and the candlelight, both of which shine a soft light onto the shadowed faces of men, women, boys, and girls.

It’s moments like these I wish I could take a breath to calm myself. I stand in a daze until I hear Terra’s heels stopping behind me.

I glance back one more time. 

{Go on. The ‘jailor’ is right behind you.}

Nodding once again, my titanium boots knock against the Bandshell as I move toward a podium at the center. Amazingly my footsteps are the most powerful noise amongst several armies worth of commoners and the explosions of bombs in the distance. I would believe this moment the exaggeration of a fisherman if I were not experiencing it myself.

I stop at the podium, finding a little pad, sitting next to a uniquely made glass quill with a cord running out of the top. Written on the side of the quill are the words, ‘The Fairy’s Voice.’

Giving one last look at the sea of people, I pick up the quill and introduce myself in the same way I did when in my very first prophecy, “I am the Fairy of the Tower, a granter of charity upon all worthy men and women.”

To both my and the crowd’s amazement, every word is accompanied by a mystical and mighty female voice that echoes between the trees and over the snow. Wolfe has made a device that permits me to have a ‘voice’ that people can associate with me, at least on these rare occasions.

When the voice’s echoes fade, I glance at Terra’s paper and scrawl, “Before beginning, a swift announcement... Let it be known that from this day forth, the 307th Memorial Grove and the two other plots south of Rumsey Playfield are to be identified as ‘Pilgrim’s Rest.’ It is a place for the dead and the dead only. Do not place shelters or any other worldly items upon Pilgrim’s Rest.”

“Now, to begin this short speech, I wish to start by asserting, I am delivering this communication at the request of the recently departed’s relatives and friends. Though I have noticed the issue myself, they have informed me that it might perhaps be worse than I thought.”

“That issue is that many people here are perhaps ignorant, confused, or do not truly grasp what it means to be here. It was told to me that my way of speaking and mannerisms may give people the wrong impression, that my expressions and words make people believe this a ‘game.’ I cannot say if that is for certain, but I personally believe that the quandary is how many seem incapable of distinguishing ‘competition,’ ‘challenge,’ and ‘game.”

I allow the sound to wash over the crowd and raise one finger. “That’s why, tonight, I hope to make everyone better understand with one final warning. Let the fog be cleared. This is not a game, regardless of how it may seem at times. As I have stated in the past, the Tower is a ‘gift’ upon humanity, but that IS the gift. Everything beyond that demands either risk or an irrecoverable cost!”

A bomb goes off one more in the distance, the voice speaks, “Thy life will be at stake, and though I pray it is not so, I am convinced Pilgrim’s Rest will not be large enough to house all of our dead for more than a year...” From the burial site, the shrill sobbing wails of a forlorn mother reverberates. “To state it candidly, thou mightst very well die here.”

While the shock is making its way through the crowds, I swiftly scribble the rest of my speech so that this may end. 

“Ergo, the military has agreed to secure a single path out of the city for anyone here that wishes to leave. [3] Be forewarned, thy chance to abandon Manhattan safely will be forfeit in three day’s time as that is as long as the military is willing to secure the passage. After that, thou hast only thyself to rely on.”

“And to the people that still have courage, the people that will build the future, I am happy to announce that the Tower will be opening in four days to all Greater Token holders. To celebrate a festival will be held in three days where more information will be rendered. Lastly, if the family of Nick Hollow is hereabouts, speak with me. ...Till the morrow, Pilgrims.”

I lay the quill on the podium, stare into the eyes of the wide-eyed people and then hurry off the stage toward Pilgrim’s Rest.

Beneath the largest oak, I bury a lockbox full of the jewelry I took from the twin boats earlier in the day.

After some time passes, I retreat to Fairy’s Pantry to remove people from its interior and release some of the more dangerous beasts.