And, if you missed it, part 2 is here.
And, now, here is part 3:
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Life
Life is frailty. In a blink of an eye it can be over. The passage of time is endless. The cycle of seasons is unchanging. Life is but a brief spark in the movement of the universe. Death is forever.
In the living world two years had passed since Calish’s death. In the pale imitation of the world Calish now occupied it seemed much longer. His only respite from the monotony of his prison was being able to watch his loved ones. It wasn’t easy, but it was something.
He watched his daughter, Lyrial, standing in front of the house which used to be his home. She gazed down at a tiny, flowerless plant sitting alone in the garden. Calish’s Soul Flower. The plant hadn’t bloomed in two years and, so long as Calish remained in the world between, it never would.
His wife, Jenya, returning from the village market, walked up the path leading to the house. She stopped next to Lyrial and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her other hand held a basket full of bread and vegetables. She pulled her daughter in close.
“Why doesn’t dad’s plant have a flower yet?” Lyrial asked softly as she leant against her mother for comfort.
Jenya was silent for a moment, thinking, before answering. “Maybe your dad isn’t ready to go to the next world yet.”
“Do you think he’s waiting for us? I bet he doesn’t want to go alone,” Lyrial said, looking up at her mother. Jenya smiled down at her.
“Perhaps he is,” she responded. “He could be waiting patiently, keeping an eye on us while he does.”
“I don’t think he should wait, mum. We can find him there later. I want him to be comfortable first,” Lyrial said thoughtfully. Jenya ruffled Lyrial’s hair.
“I think he’d be happy to hear you say that. Now, let’s get inside. You’re going to help me cook today, remember?” Jenya gave her a light push, urging her daughter towards the house.
“Okay!” Lyrial said, running to the house and going inside. Jenya stayed a few moments longer, looking at the plant.
“Oh Calish, I hope you’re okay. Wherever you are,” she said quietly before also heading into the house.
The seasons drifted, spring into summer and then autumn. The days grew cooler and the weather wetter. The villagers were all hard at work preparing for the coming winter. The months of snow were growing close.
Calish watched Lyrial, sitting in the garden outside the house he once called home. She stroked the leaves of his Soul Flower, looking thoughtful as she did. She looked up, taking in the brilliant reds and yellows of the autumn leaves.
The autumn skies were covered in dark clouds, turning the living world as grey and dreary as Calish’s. The falling rain was reflected in this shadow of worlds as falling specks of darkness. They hit Calish’s body, fading as they did so. There was no splash, and he remained dry.
Lyrial stood up in the rain, spreading her arms out wide and facing up to the sky. She closed her eyes as the rain fell upon her face. The water soaked into her hair and clothing and she smiled and laughed up into the sky.
For the first time since dying, Calish allowed himself a slight smile. His daughter’s happiness seemed to lighten his dark world. He smiled to himself, marvelling at the beautiful child that he’d brought into the world.
He heard the door of the cottage open and turned to see his wife running into the rain. She ran towards their daughter and took her hand.
“Lyrial, you silly child, get inside. You’ll find yourself sick from the cold if you’re not careful,” she scolded. The smile on her face betrayed the seriousness of her words. Calish wondered if his wife had been thinking the same thing he just had.
Jenya led Lyrial back inside the cottage, already struggling to get her out of her wet clothing. Calish watched them go, smiling at the scene, until the door of the cottage slammed shut.
The memories of moments like these were the ones Calish held dearest. They made his existence a little easier to cope with. It was comforting to know that they were able to smile, even without him there.
In the early days of winter, like many winters before, disease came upon the village. It spread from household to household, uncaring in who it infected. Many found themselves bed ridden before the winter had reached its peak.
The village physician trudged through the winter snow on his rounds through the village. The winter normally found him busier than normal and this one was no exception. He did all he could for the people, but his cures, treatments and time were all stretched very thin.
This winter, in fact, he found himself under even more pressure. The disease seemed harsher this year, showing less mercy to those inflicted. The strong found themselves brought down and crippled by this particular strain. Those who counted themselves among the healthiest were suddenly fighting for their lives. Many lost this fight, passing into Calish’s world.
So it was that Calish, for the first time since coming to his village, saw the cloaked figure.
The cloaked figure visited a number of village houses throughout the winter, stopping by when a poor soul lost his fight against the disease. Calish would occasionally watch him on his rounds, but most of his attention was for his family. He hoped that they would be spared.
At times Calish would notice the cloaked figure watching him, always from a distance. He’d always stare back, waiting for the figure to make a move. Despite his time stuck in this world, Calish still hoped to be able to move on. This figure was his only hope for that.
But the figure would never do more than watch. He’d observe, often for hours at a time, Calish’s movements. Then, without any signal, the figure would suddenly vanish or drift slowly towards another house in the village.
No words were ever exchanged between the two of them. Calish imagined the figure felt it had said all that needed to be said. This suited Calish fine. He didn’t have anything left he wanted to say to the figure either.
And so, this cycle of silently watching continued throughout the early weeks of winter.
Winter was well underway when Lyrial started showing the first signs of disease. Fever gripped her as she struggled restlessly against nightmares as she slept. Calish could do nothing but watch as she cried out in her sleep and constantly rolled beneath the covers.
Breaking free from her fever induced dreams, Lyrial sat up in bed with a sudden cry. She sat there panting and drenched in sweat as Jenya, woken by her daughter’s cry, rushed over to her. Jenya took her child in her arms, holding her close, doing all she could to comfort her. Lyrial buried her head into her mother’s shoulder as her body shook with frightened, fevered cries.
It pained Calish to watch this scene, knowing there was nothing he could do. He’d have given anything to be there with his family. He longed to hold his daughter and assure her that she’d get better. He wanted to be there to give his support to his wife as their daughter struggled.
Watching, however, was all he could do. As painful as this scene was for him, he didn’t dare leave. He wanted to - needed to - see everything that happened to his family the moment it happened. If there was any comfort, any hope that his family could pick up on from the presence of his spirit he’d be there for that.
Somehow, he was determined to see his family still get through this together, in any way possible.
The physician came the next morning to see Lyrial. He quickly checked her over, but it was clear she was suffering from the same affliction as the rest of the village. He said as much to Jenya.
“Is there anything we can do?” she asked him, desperate for any hope.
“I have a bit of a tonic,” he said, reaching into his bag for a bottle, “It will help to fight the fever and let her rest a bit easier.”
“Thank you,” Jenya said, taking the bottle from him.
“Now, I don’t have a lot, mind you. I can only spare that one bottle. I’d suggest using it only at nights for now. I’m hoping that another delivery of supplies comes by soon so I can put together some more,” explained the physician.
“It’s fine, really. Every little bit will help,” Jenya thanked him again.
“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “the most important thing for her right now is getting some rest, and this tonic will help with that.”
The physician began to pack up his gear, apologising to Jenya that he couldn’t stay longer, or do anything more. He still had a lot more people to see that morning.
Calish didn’t see him leave. All his attention was for his daughter as he stood at the side of her bed. She was pale and sweaty with fever as she lay in bed. She cried out weakly and Jenya was at her side. She held a cup of water to Lyrial’s mouth and helped her slowly drink. She took it away as she started violently coughing.
“Just rest darling, just rest,” she said, brushing her Lyrial’s hair back. She lay her daughter down again and sat on the edge of the bed, helping to calm Lyrial.
Calish found himself reaching a hand out to rub his wife’s shoulder, desperate to comfort her. His hand passed through Jenya’s shoulder, and she didn’t make any movement to indicate she’d even noticed anything. His hand returned to his side where he formed it into a fist. He shut his eyes then, briefly, trying to shut the pain away.
A slow, hard week went by where Calish could do nothing but watch his daughter deteriorate further. She grew paler, began losing weight and, although the tonic helped, still woke sweating and screaming many nights. She had a hard time keeping food down and her coughing was growing steadily more violent. It seemed she was fighting a losing battle, but Calish held on to hope.
Calish admired the strength his daughter showed, despite it all. During brief moments of reprieve, where the disease itself seemed to be resting, he’d listen to the conversations between her and Jenya.
Lyrial would tell her how she was going to get better. She wasn’t going to die because she knew her mother needed her with father now gone. She was going to fight the disease with all her strength. She didn’t want to make her mother worry anymore. She was going to win.
Calish worried about Jenya as well. She never showed it in front of their daughter, but he could tell she was growing weak as well. When she wasn’t in the room with Lyrial she seemed to move slower, like every step cost her more energy. She’d often be caught in violent coughing fits that she tried to smother, not wanting Lyrial to hear. She wanted to be strong for Lyrial, so Lyrial could be too.
The physician came a few more times to check on Lyrial, promising that there’d be more he could do soon. He must have noticed Jenya’s condition as well, Calish thought, as he stopped to ask Jenya how she was feeling one day on his way to the next patient.
“I’m fine,” she responded. To Calish’s ears, it didn’t sound like she believed her own words.
The physician hesitated, like he was going to say more, but instead said his goodbyes. Jenya watched him go, her face pale and hollow.
That night Jenya sat at the foot of her daughter’s bed while Lyrial drifted off into a restless sleep. Calish watched as his wife fell asleep, leaning on the bed. She looked exhausted. Lyrial, meanwhile, thrashed about more violently than ever.
The tonic from the physician had run out the night before and the fever dreams seemed to now be worse than before. Perhaps Jenya hadn’t used it sparingly enough, though Calish could hardly blame her for this. He wanted his daughter to recover just as much. He also suspected that Jenya may have taken some for herself.
A sharp cry from Lyrial broke Calish from his thoughts, and Jenya from her sleep. She stood up, the movement seeming to take great effort, and moved to her daughter’s side.
“Oh, my darling,” Jenya quietly whispered, taking Lyrial’s hands in hers.
“It hurts, mum. Everything hurts. Help me,” Lyrial sobbed. Jenya lifted her daughter up in bed and held her close, rocking her gently. Her eyes came to rest on the empty bottle next to the bed.
“Go back to sleep for a little, Lyrial. I’m going to go see the physician. I’m sure he’ll have some more medicine for you,” Jenya said, lowering Lyrial back into the bed.
“No, no mum. Don’t go. Please don’t go,” Lyrial cried out.
“Hush darling, I won’t be long,” Jenya leaned forward and kissed Lyrial’s forehead before reaching for a coat and leaving the room.
“No… please…” Lyrial cried out one more time before passing back into the world of her fever dreams.
Calish knelt beside her bed, trying desperately to find a way to send his spirit over to her. He wanted her to know he was here with her and looking out for her. He held his hand over hers, cupping it, but never touching. There was no way for him to reach her, physically or mentally. But Calish kept trying. It was all he could do to try, and he couldn’t let himself give up.
Calish had no idea how much time had passed when he heard footsteps behind him. He was still crouched beside his daughter, his hand over hers. Lyrial looked less troubled now. The dreams seemed to have faded, giving her a brief respite in which to rest. She looked peaceful, though her brow was still ringed with beads of sweat, and her skin was pale.
“Calish,” a familiar voice, the owner of the footsteps, called out. Calish turned around to once again come face to face with the cloaked figure. Calish’s eyes widened as his thoughts immediately went to his daughter.
“No,” Calish choked out, then louder; “No! You are not taking my daughter too. Get out of here.” The figure ignored him.
“You’re going to want to come with me,” was all the figure said before turning to leave. Calish was about to question him but stopped, noticing the room around him.
While there was no sun, no moon or no stars in this shadow of worlds, there was still a difference in light between night and day. As he looked around the room, Calish realised it was indeed morning.
It was morning, and Jenya wasn’t in the cottage.
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