Rest at Last

Chapter 90: Rest at Last

/I was once told by a professor that life is many things.

Back then, I laughed. I did not think much of life, having just passed my exams and walking over the ones who failed. I was on top of the world, and refused to listen about the cruelties of the world, or about pressure, or what kindness could do. It had been a professor who taught me for a long time, too. He knew me well, yet while he knew I wouldn't listen, he still spoke to me.

Perhaps if I were back there again nowadays, I would bow to him and ask him to repeat the lecture, alas, I will never be able to.

I used to be arrogant and cocky. I knew it all so much better than everyone who wasn't me, I would not listen when people spoke, and I regret that. If I did, I would surely have learned more. Yet it was a mistake I had to make, and one I have learnt from.

I'm older these days, and I have learned the lesson myself. Life is many things, it can be many things. It can be kind and soft, it can be pleasant or pleasurable, it can be crushing, and sad, and heartbreaking. To live can be a gift or a curse, and I truly do not envy those who see it as the latter.

See, there was a time when it felt like that to me too. After passing all my exams, I rose to the top of my field, I was outstanding, I was the best, and people who I used to look up to sought my council. And yet, it eventually all fell apart. I was hunted like a dog in the streets for no good reason I know of today, chased with pitchforks and torches by people I had never touched, yet of course there was good reason.

These people had experienced contempt at my hands. I scoffed at their little squabbles, from high above them, and I paid the price.

Now I know the cruelties of life too, and in my older days, I can appreciate youth. I have learned many lessons, good ones and bad ones, and what I can say with most certainty, is that life is fleeting.

Someday we will die. It is an inevitability, one we must face, for the tooth of time spares no one. Not spirits, not elves, not vampires and not gods. It is inevitable that one must fall eventually, and that is a good thing.

When the old fall, it gives room for new to grow, a new generation, who will make mistakes all over, and perhaps they will learn from us. Perhaps a young man like me will listen to my advice now, not choosing to brush it aside like I did. Then we would talk, and I would ramble on like I am right now, and eventually, I would pass.

But I would leave something behind. My memory, a thread of fate that can never be broken, that is passed on from person to person, a torch to never go out, because it is just an idea. That even though our life is fleeting as that of all people is, we will always, always pass something on, no matter how little. I think that thought, and those connections we make, is what makes our fated end seem less harmful and more like a soft pillow we can lay our heads on.

When I go, I wish to be able to look in the mirror and say I tried. Then, when that is done, I will sleep and never wake up again./

A published diary entry of Dr. Alucard Acula.

- - - - - -

The caretaker did not speak much. When she had asked for a walk, that was her full intention: to walk. She strode right aside Mercury, her steps on the gravel paths silent as a whisper in the storm. As they went on, Mercury's senses were still more than receptive to the things around him.

He could see the graves, feel the stones underneath his feet, smell the flowers and the occasional hint of candlewax, though he could also sense a new song. No, it wasn't something new, it was something deeply familiar to him.

With his curiosity shifting, Mercury began to hear this melody more clearly, almost attempting to grasp it. But it was difficult, truly. When he reached for it with his senses, it seemed to almost fade away, like a breath of mist, and yet even when it faded, he heard parts of what it was made of.

There were many parts, so very many he could not hold all of them in his mind at once. He could listen to the everchanging rhythm in and of itself, simply accepting the flow and following it as it shifted. For a moment, it was the sickeningly sweet smell of decay, a smothering presence like a thick blanket seeking to extinguish a fire, then the whisper of loss, a feeling so deep and sharp it could poke holes in one's heart. There was pain in its pure state of despair, and there was forgiveness somewhere within there too.

But what he could hear most when reaching out was stillness. This one he knew, he could tell, it was what radiated from the woman next to him, from the caretaker. It was a stillness so thick it almost swallowed up the songs around her. Perhaps it truly did, Mercury thought, watching as when her boots touched the ground it seemed to almost make the environment quieter.

Only a moment later, Mercury felt why. This was a sombre place, one of quiet. That stillness was necessary for peace. If those forgotten ones in the soil or in their urns were to be loud, there could not be peace. The caretaker was not only maintaining the graves, righting flowers where they were wilted, and lighting candles where they had gone out, but she tended to silence, to hear the cries of the dead so they would not need to cry out louder.

Then, she stopped. "Traveller," she said slowly, turning her head towards the cat.

"Yes?" Mercury answered, ending his train of thought for a moment, simply indulging in the calm air around him.

"You think too much," the woman said, cracking a hint of a smile. "Quiet your thoughts and listen. See. Feel," she said.

"Hm, I'll try."

"That is good," the woman said and nodded, continuing her strides.

They walked past more of the gravestones. Slower, now, and Mercury could tell why. He watched around him carefully, abandoning the process of thought. He didn't link it to previous experiences anymore, simply listened to the things around him, saw what there was to see.

At first, it was simply silence, the steps of the caretaker quieting any sound that would have otherwise whispered down to nothingness. Yet as they walked, Mercury's ears seemed to open up more. It was the flowers he saw first, a gentle smell on the chilly breeze, a promise of wide fields and freedom. It was a breath of life so quiet he ordinarily wouldn't have noticed it in all the noise.

Next, the stones of the path raised their voice, small but reliable, always seeking to support. They spoke of safety, of a good journey, and even of company. Perhaps the road so many travellers wish to go on was right below their feet, already there and giving them all the company they needed.

And then, Mercury heard the whispers of the earth below. It was laden with snow, the dull glittering seeking for more attentions, to trump over the ground it laid upon, but around the caretaker even snow was silenced, giving the others their space. The very soil he stood on spoke up, talking with many voices of nourishment and life, as well as decay and death. To rise and fall again, it had seen it many times over, every change of seasons again, every Chapter that flipped once more, it was a story of a cycle.

Eventually, the fog began to hum. It asked if it was doing alright, insecure and fleeting, scared of rejection. It wanted to give space and comfort, here at least. It also spoke of the past, of tricks it played and many adventures, of letting the solemn mourn, and letting the adventurous stop to breathe, and of letting the foolhardy fall.

Some time passed then, when Mercury heard his first whisper of a corpse. It felt strange, a cold hand clinging onto him, not violently, not resentfully for the living. It slowly reached out, and beckoned him closer. A hand that was long gone now asked to see, wished to speak with a mouth that was no longer there, and Mercury stopped.

He looked up at the caretaker, and the woman nodded, beckoning at the grave. The tombstone was simple, traditional, without an engraving. There was a candle, a soft support behind the dead man's voice, shedding light on the story, and a bundle of flowers, to give sweetness where it was needed, and to take it away when the times became dull.

The story itself was... strangely ordinary. Of a farmer, who payed tribute hungrily, who wished for more fields to live off. A lord at war, needing ever more resources for soldiers. The farmer spoke of grain and harvest, of work and tedium, of diligence and hardiness. Yet, he also spoke of sorrow. Of early love, and losing a child, miscarried. Of their daughter he was proud of and raised well he thought, of when his wife grew sick and passed.

It spoke of sadness and a life lived fully, of old age, and good food, of friends and shared drinks, of laughter and of sadness, it was a tale as ordinary as human life, and yet as Mercury listened, he felt the tears in his eyes, freezing and falling as tiny pieces of ice, shattering on the floor.

When the story ended, there was another great silence, the words that remained unspoken hanging heavily in the air. "Thank you," Mercury said and nodded, and the story thanked him back. Then, he turned away, and walked on.

"Do you listen to them a lot, caretaker?" the mopaaw asked a few steps further in the fog.

"Sometimes," the woman nodded. "Follow me," she then said briskly, waving him towards her and walking with more purpose. There was a destination now, and Mercury wished to see it as well.

Soon, they had passed another dozen markers or more, and arrived at a bench. It was old, ancient even, and if it were made from iron it would be rusty. Yet it simply stood there, black and unaging, the metal interwoven into leaflike patterns before reaching the floor, and soon the pair sat down on it. For another few moments, no words came, the fog receding a little to reveal a field of white flowers at the end of the gravel path.

"Traveller, do you often encounter places like this?" the caretaker then asked, not facing the person she had been walking with.

"Sometimes," Mercury nodded. "Never like this though."

"What is like this, then?" the woman asked with a faint smile.

"It's... very much," Mercury said, his thoughts muddled. The reply however was silence, a pause in their talk that gave him time to think. "It is the first time everything is speaking to me."

"Truly?" the woman asked.

"I'm fairly sure, yes."

"Think some more, traveller. There is no hurry here," the caretaker said, slowly shaking her head.

"I-... hm. I suppose it felt like this when <Breath> was first categorized..." Mercury muttered after some thinking. He thought it would barely be a whisper, but in a sombre place it rang out loudly.

Once again, the woman in black nodded her head. "I would have been surprised. Hearing the song on your very first time would be surprising. Yet still, I hear more stories that cling to you," she said.

"Stories that... cling to me?"

"Indeed. Powerful stories, ones that are strong enough to leave imprints on you. One is large, an entire short lifetimes even, a story of trial, like a caged animal. Another story speaks of carnage, torn limbs and rivers of blood. Then, there is an old one, a long story, with parts of it blurry and forgotten as the one it belongs to. And yet still, another story clings to you, this one young, and chaotic, unsure of where it is headed, yet guided by your calm."

The woman paused. After a while she began to smirk.

"It appears this event also will not leave you untouched. I can already feel a faint thread of this place's story hang onto you, unwilling to let go."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow," Mercury said.

"Ah, I rambled. These stories are imprints. Interactions with other ones, outer ones, things that people might brush off as nothing. Yet, you seem receptive, perhaps because of that lifetime you already hold within yourself."

And a moment later, the woman sat opposite of a man rather than a mopaaw.

"I see," Steve said. "Ah, this isn't my voice." It was hollow and ghostly.

"You're a memory, that is why," the caretaker said. "I would invite you to stay a while and tell me of yourself, but that time has not come yet," she said. A moment later, Mercury returned to his cat-body.

"Whoa, that feels... strange."

"I simply asked one of the stories that shape you to tell their tale. Only for a moment however, as it seems that specific one is not over quite yet. There is simply a gap, one I have not seen often, but I have seen it."

"A gap?" Mercury asked.

"A gap," the caretaker nodded. "I believe you know already where it is from, traveller of worlds."

"It's from the reincarnation, isn't it?" he asked.

"Indeed," the woman nodded once more. "The stories that cling to you, those which are part of your fate, include your own. It is a song still sung, a painting in progress, a meal not yet ready to eat," she said bearing a smile. "Yet, new things are added. Some leave faint traces, others change it entirely. It's..."

She paused, grasping for words.

"It's no more and no less than being influenced by the people you interact with. The stories I talked off are noticeable to me, yet hundreds more hold onto you. They will push you and pull you towards certain paths and away from others. They are your wishes, your will, your burden, and yourself. They are what makes you traveller, and what makes me caretaker," she said slowly, her hazel eyes losing their luster.

"Ah, but I must attend my duties again," the caretaker said regretfully. "I do ask you visit again. It was a pleasure, traveller. Thank you for being respectful."

And before Mercury could answer, the fog grew thick and fell over his eyes, the last thing he saw was the strange woman turning to mist, and the white roses turning black as the fog rolled in to swallow it all up. Then, a moment later, Mercury woke up on the forest floor, gasping for air and panting heavily.

"Holy fuck," he stammered out in between gasps, his lungs feeling like he had just swallowed hellfire, burning and cramping up as he rolled on the floor in pain. His muscles spasmed the moment he got even a whiff of air in, pushing it all out, and he could barely control his breathing at all.

After a few seconds, Mercury began retching, his stomach violently rejecting something. Moments later, he threw up onto the ground, his insides turning to outsides as he still wailed, his mind so utterly overwhelmed it took him forever to think through even a second of what had happened just there.

Still, not long after dumping everything his stomach contained onto the ground, Mercury at least got his breathing back under control. Every heave of his chest seemed to strain himself, his muscles fighting against it as he forced air into his lungs, but there was no way out of that. A couple minutes later, he began dragging himself back to his log. He'd found it hard to sleep before, and it seemed out of the question now.

At least it felt like that, until his head hit the blanket, and almost immediately, he passed out from exertion.

- - -

The caretaker sighed as she sent the traveller away. Their company had been pleasant. It awoke distant memories of herself, hearing and seeing what few had before. Then again, she had abandoned those things for a reason, and her current existing was more than fulfilling for her.

Yet, she had sent the traveller away. With good reason, too. She couldn't see very far in this place, the fog veiling her eyes as it grew thick and heavy. It seemed to be hiding her from something, sheltering her, and it put a faint smile on her lips.

"Part," she said, and the fog parted.

The sky above her workplace was cloudy, as it always was, the faint flakes of snow falling eternally within this place. Somehow, the traveller had braved the storm and made it in, into this place, one that many may consider unreachable. The thought amused her once more.

A location considered well hidden, yet it only truly remained difficult to reach, if one believed it to be. The traveller wanted to see more badly than they believed it would be hard, and thus they were allowed in. She was glad that they had been respectful. This was a sombre place after all.

As she thought so, her face hardened. The sky was changing, she could see that much, the blues and white slowly fading to be replaced by black and red, the colour of dried blood clinging onto the clouds as the snow turned to rain. Thick drops of scarlet slowly fell, hissing where they touched the ground, sometimes lighting tiny flames until the very earth they sat upon drowned them out.

One drop landed on the caretakers shoulder, yet it did not even hiss as it simply faded into nothingness. She shook her head at this attempt, and raised her face to the sky. The last time intruders attempted to enter this sanctum of peace, they had fallen and been laid to rest here, the warriors finally embracing the peace they had sought to break.

Yet this time, she felt there would be no warriors in this place.

"Would you really come here after only a whisper, a faint ringing of your fate?" she asked as the blood poured down more, yet the answer was none.

The caretaker shook her head as she walked, yet time was of the essence. She asked the path to take her to the shed, and only a step later, she was there, unlocking the old thing with a rusty key. She looked over its contents, at what laid inside, the many tools, and settled on a shovel. When she left, she walked again, watching as the rain grew heavier and stained the earth.

Soon, she had arrived at an untouched piece of soil. The rain poured heavily now, crimson droplets falling upon each other, seeking to form puddles and splashes, yet not a sound rang out, swallowed by the fog that was already in this place. In the silence, the caretaker took the shovel, and pushed it into the ground, upheaving a lump of dirt with a groan. Then another, and another yet.

By the fourth time she dug into the earth, the first crack rang out, a shrill tearing as the air in front of her spilled open to reveal a monstrous figures within scarlet doorways, black mist spilling over and seeking to taint what was there. The thing's face was almost nought but a jagged mouth, opening up wide to howl and scream.

"Be quiet," the caretaker said, and not a sound left it's mouth. "Lay down," she commanded next, pointing at the shallow ditch she had dug, and once again the monster obeyed. Soon, she had covered it back up with dirt.

"Please, make a marker," she kindly asked of the earth, and a marker appeared. It was a tombstone without any engravings, as a single, blood red rose with a stem of black grew from the grave. Small stones formed around it, marking it's borders, and moments later, the gravel path had spread besides it, just another thing buried beneath the soil.

"Now rest," the caretaker said with a kind voice, and the creature stopped its stirring. Somewhere in the fog, someone sang.

"This little sea of scarlet~" a young voice hummed, but when the caretaker raised her hand, none of the sound came close to her ears or the new tomb anymore.

"You no longer need to worry," the woman said in between pants, exhausted from digging. "You can stay here, and rest. The others will join you soon."

And within a rainfall of blood, where abominations would scream, the caretaker simply stepped over, and began to dig once more, listening to a quiet, sad song as she went about her work.