Revenge was distasteful. There was always a better way to resolve any kind of conflict. That was one of Lon’s main teachings. Most struggles could be mended, although people drew the line under ‘most’ in different places. To Siel, he found where he drew that line when Whilderon killed his sister.

  That was three months ago, when Siel’s entire family had gathered to celebrate this year’s harvest. Him and his father had prepared a feast bigger than any year they’d had before, and his many aunts and uncles were sure to enjoy it. Their farm was just outside the major Lonist city, and Raffia, the soon-to-be-killed sister, had come back from her excursion in the Pokian seas. She had always been in awe of the multitudes of various plants of Bitrect, so she set her goal to better document the marine plant life in the area. Siel had always admired his sister for being such a scholar. When she talked about all the plants she learned about, she would never stop to check if he was actually listening. Most of the time, he couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he enjoyed that she had started to smile so much more. It was rare for someone in their family to be so smart, and Siel was proud to be closer to her than anyone.

  That is, until, a bandit– not a random bandit, but a bandit nonetheless– named Whilderon burst into the very-private family gathering, splintering the door into countless tiny pieces. All who were gathered burst into panic, as this man had been infamous for his many years of exploits: the story about how he caught and lifted a runaway carriage, including both horses, with his bare hands and threw it into a small store whose owner owed him a large sum became largely circulated very quickly. He was also infamous for his regular evasion of Lon and his Reaper. Of course neither of them would stomach such a horrid man ruining their community, but it seemed that there was nothing they could do.

  Whilderon had shouted over the growing panic for Raffia to return something she stole, saying that then this would all be over quietly.

  When she refused, he didn’t hesitate to take back the item by force, as that seemed to be all this barbarian knew. The image of him strangling her was burned into Siel’s mind. He wanted to speak up in the moment– of course he did– but nothing actually came out of his mouth as he grabbed the bandit’s arm. He sure wasn’t a fighter, so he just ended up standing there, his sweaty palms slicking the dirt off the invader. As their eyes met, Siel couldn’t describe the knot of fear within his chest. With his open hand, Whilderon crushed Siel’s wrist in less than a second and with such excessive, brutal force that it cleaved off his hand entirely. The ringing pain blinded Siel, the only thing stopping him from watching his sister’s eyes fade as Whilderon made his exit.

  …

  One of his favorite things about life under Lon was how colorful everyone endeavoured to make everything. If something can be brightly colored, it should be.

  But Vot was so different. Siel walked through the dull-grey city with its permanently colorless sky. His bag was heavy, weighing him down still, even after he had consumed most of it on the journey here. He never asked permission to come this far, so he had to pack his rations himself, even with just his one hand. If he had asked his plentiful aunts, they surely would have harvested their entire fields to feed him, and it would have been so much more delicious than the few weeks of storage crops he actually took. But he didn’t want to involve them in this. Such a horrid task was his responsibility, and he didn’t need to involve anyone else. Instead, he looked for a diner as he arrived in the capital.

  The building was humid inside, although everything about anything Votin always screamed how dry it was. Dry bones, dry soil, dry people. A young woman showed him to his seat before a skeleton with the number 22053 etched into its arm started serving him. The food, while better than his stock of rations, was expectedly dry.

  “Can you help me?” He asked 22053. This wasn’t the first person he had asked on his journey, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I’m looking for someone, I was wondering if you’ve heard of him? His name is Whilderon? He’s Lonist.”

  22053 rattled a little as they settled into place. “I recognize the name. I was actually Lonist in my life, and he was just as infamous back then. He was a bad man back then, so you shouldn’t go looking for that kind of trouble.”

  “I know,” Siel said, “but I need to. Any chance you know anything?”

  “When he was a child,” 22053 started, “he and his friends always had a hangout around the Cave of Talina. From what I remember, it was an off limits zone; don’t know why, though, but that of course drew the kids to it. But I’ve been dead for too long to know anything about his modern hijinks.”

  “Hijinks,” Siel scoffed, “He killed my sister.”

  “Oh,” 22053 said, “I’m sorry. Can I assume that’s why you’re here? To see Vot?”

  “Yes,” Siel said, “I have so many questions I still need to ask her.”

  “Well, from one Lonist to another, I wish you the best.”

  …

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Siel hadn’t noticed the shrinekeeper sneak up on him as he walked around the temple, knowingly lost. He had never been to Lon’s temple, so this was all new to him. She gave a pleasing smile, her white teeth sharply contrasting her gold-detailed pitch-black robes.

  “I want to see my sister again,” Siel answered. “Can Vot help me?”

  “Of course,” she said, “Follow me.” She started towards the furthest wall, which had a large set of doors. A few onlookers– black-robed people and skeletons– showed some intrigue to the bright green in their home.

  “Um…” Siel said, “What does Vot normally ask in return?”

  “For us,” the shrinekeeper said, rather stoutly, “loyalty. For you, I don’t know. It’s not exactly normal for any others to want to see their dead again. They find it… unsightly.” Siel recognized the distaste in her words.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Is the process really that bad?”

  “No,” she said, “I think it’s beautiful, and I await my death with fervor. But people like you always think it’s disgusting.”

  I see. Her distaste was not with the resummoning process, but with other people.

  “Are you sure you wish to continue?” They had reached the large doors, and she was poised to push them open.

  “Yes.”

  The room inside was equally as dark as the rest of the Votin capital. Equally as colorless, and equally undelightful. Another set of doors, slightly smaller than the first, stood before them. The shrinekeeper knocked on the second door, a light rasp twitching the air.

  “Enter,” the voice came from beyond the threshold. It wasn’t booming, but it was clearly powerful, resonating through all of Siel’s body. For the first time, he wondered if this was really a good idea. But, he quelled his mind. He was here now, and his sister needed this. He needed this.

  The shrinekeeper pushed open one of the large doors before stepping aside and letting Siel in. She closed the door behind him. The inner sanctum was a large open room, with a large hole in the roof, giving a perfect view of the rolling dark clouds constantly above them. Vot sat on her throne, watching him. Her chin rested on her hand in a manner Siel hadn’t expected from a God– that’s right!

  He plummeted down to kneel and crashed his knee into the stony floor. He just hit it wrong, but it hurt. A lot. He had cried a lot when he lost his hand, and his sister, and this was infinitely less pain that would surely go away in a matter of moments, but it was still painful. He grit his teeth. It was his first time in front of a God; he wasn’t going to cry.

  “Hello,” Vot said. Her voice was smooth, but still just as powerful as before. “To what do I owe the pleasure? You must have traveled far to come all the way from Lon, no?”

  “That’s correct.” His voice was shaky. “My name is Siel Norving. My sister, Raffia, was killed a few months ago by the same bandit that severed my hand. I have a lot of questions I need to ask her, and… I want to see her again.” He wasn’t going to cry in front of a God.

  “Ah,” Vot said, lifting her head, “Yes, I talked with your sister after she passed. While I applaud your courage to come see me, and the effort you have made to travel thus far, I cannot grant your request. She had no wishes of returning to this world.”

  “No–” What was he going to do now? “That can’t be right!”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Vot said.

  “You said you talked to her,” Siel grasped, “did she leave me a message? Did she tell you why he did that? What did he mean she stole something from him?”

  As he asked, Vot was already shaking her head.

  “Nothing?” Siel realized he had stood again only once he fell to his knees.

  “Raffia had many things to tell me, but she explicitly told me to keep it from you, for she did not want you to get involved, or worse: hurt. I respect the will of the dead.”

  “I see.” He really didn’t. She was only a year younger than him, and he loved hearing her talk about things she was interested in that he didn’t fully understand. His sister and him had always been ride-or-die, so what, and why, was she finally keeping from him?

  “There is one thing I can do to help you,” Vot prefaced. “I prioritize the will of the dead above anything else, but that does not contradict that you have a will of your own. While I cannot grant your request, I may be able to help sate another of your desires.”

  “Which is?”

  “You seek revenge, do you not?”

  That word left a sour aftertaste in his mouth anytime he heard it.

  “Hold out your hand. No, your other one.”

  Siel raised his bandage-wrapped stump of a wrist. Nobody told him to undo the bandages, but he did. Underneath, the stump was almost fully healed, the skin crowning the end over still slightly raw and scarred. Even though it was no longer nearly as grotesque as it once was, it still almost made him vomit, reminding him of everything that happened that evening.

  A wave of magic thrummed in the wind, and, within a few miraculous seconds of swirling mists, his hand was reattached, appearing magically out of the air itself. As excited as he was, his ecstasy couldn’t last forever.

  “I never offered anything,” he said to Vot.

  “That’s okay,” Vot said, “No deal has been made. Consider this a parting gift from your sister, for what she cannot share with you.”

  Okay, maybe he would cry in front of a God today. He stood up straight and bowed deeply, thanking her for her gratitude.

  “You may find it not as wonderful as you first think,” Vot said. “Outsiders usually find it disturbing, so your journey home might be troublesome–”

  A piece of meat plopped on the floor at Siel’s feet, splattering a bit of blood on his shoe. He held up his new hand to examine it, only to find it shriveling and grey. He yelped. A few dark green spots appeared across the hand before evaporating and taking the flesh with it. His new hand melted away in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but the bones behind.

  He couldn’t really believe it, neither that he had his hand back, nor that it was made of bones. He flexed his hand, which moved just like it would have if it was alive, the fingers opening and closing and the wrist turning effortlessly as if it wasn’t just white bones, barely connected. Luckily, the rot hadn’t spread to the rest of his arm.

  “How perfect,” Vot said, “I must admit I’ve never tried that before, so such a pleasing result is welcome. As an extra gift, I’ve bestowed a special kind of power within that hand of yours.”

  Siel moved his bony hand around the strap of his bag, playing with it and rolling his fingers between it. In every way possible, it worked just like normal. He didn’t exactly feel any power within it, so he wasn’t sure what she was talking about in that regard.

  “You may go now,” Vot said, “Mora will see you out.” She smiled. “As a final word: I hope you remember this when your death finally comes.”

  He hadn’t seen the shrinekeeper open the door behind him, but she looked like she was waiting for him.

  “Thank you, Vot,” Siel said. He appreciated this act, but a small taste lingered in the back of his mouth, reminding him that he was never going to see his sister again.

  “I’ve never seen something like that before,” the shrinekeeper said as the inner sanctum’s doors closed behind them. She reached out and took his hand like it was some kind of trophy. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Maybe to you.”

  “Maybe you are undeserving of such a blessing.”

  “Maybe,” Siel pulled his hand away from her. He wasn’t horribly fussed by its appearance. It was a tenet of Lon that personal taste shouldn’t influence their reasoning. “I’ll make use of it. I will.”

  To Be Continued…