The dead made poor conversation on the road. Anxious and fretting, she would by then welcome the consternation and concerns of madness that might come from talking amicably of life and love with a horse. Alas, the horse was as dead as her companion.
Tempted she was to chatter with them regardless, and mayhaps she would have laughed gaily at their jests and gossip had she not felt crippled with embarrassment from knowing not their names. As it was the trio trod on in awkward silence, even the birdsong stilled beneath those shadowed trees. Boredom did creep in their wake however, and even her longing fantasies could not distract her long from her other thoughts.
She reminded herself each score of shuffling steps that she had not far to go. Indeed riding through these forest paths lonely yet not alone was surely to be the least difficult and quietest part of her task. Having spun, unraveled, and resewn a dozen threads concerning how to tread through the town ahead she felt more lost than any foreign traveler in this arboreal labyrinth. Perhaps then silence would be the best approach. She was after all becoming quite practiced.
She wondered if the once a man which did stride beside her would recognize his homecoming. Rejoice he would not, but perhaps remembrance was not inherently beyond him. Unlikely, she supposed, with the sash around his eyes. In such a state as he she could but only hope his home recognized him.
He was expected, in a manner of speaking. Yet she doubted his family would be as satisfied as they likely thought the granting of their request would leave them. Still, as blasphemous a gift he may be it was a blessing. No more would this noble be bent to the burdens of the slave. Others greater than he had harsher fates. She envied him, for he would never be forced to suffer the return trip along these paths.
Gracious always of her own blessings though, she laid her hand upon the front crest of her saddle. This poor palfrey would journey back into depths of the Black Forest also, only it had to carry her as well. She decided then to walk beside the beast when her turn at return should come. Perhaps being closer to eye level might encourage it to converse.
Hours passed. With the squirrels all fled and the rising sunlight loathe to trespass, somber and stately was this psychopomp and party. Down they ambled, from the craggiest rocks overgrown with brooding ancients to the more mild boulders half sunk between trees born in days not yet history. In time, as the sun began to slip from its zenith, the first of the pastures and fields came unto the three eyes the trio shared between them. And with the lands of men came the men.
In frowning censorship did they clutch their staves and crooks, staring at the lord and his lady as witnesses might gaze upon a condemned man sloughing to his noose. None spoke openly, but their prayers and angry oaths did not escape her notice as she searched for fellowship among their faces. None would meet her lornful look, for she would always be as distant to them as the dead. Her name and voice were unknown to them, but all knew who she was. A ghost from the screaming night. A pale fanged shepherd to ruined souls. And above all else, a slave of the Covenant.
Though it was the nearest town to her tower, she had never yet entered within the walls. It was different here than some far flung place. There she was merely a woman. But this close, among these good people, she was a monster. And yet it was her that guided the prodigal son to his place of progenity. For ghoulish and ethereal as she was, her siblings were yet more nightmarish.
Or so she supposed was the reason she had been chosen to deliver the once a man to his hosts. Less valuable servants than she were forbidden from leaving the Covenant, while the other captains and crusaders of the Magi's will were certainly less palatable to the tongues of the townsfolk. The Magi cared nothing about courting these minor nobles, but it was in even their callous best interests to be cordial to their neighbors. That a young woman might offer a better impression than an intimidating warrior was like to be as deep a thought as they bothered gracing the matter with.
Some lad or lass must have scurried ahead, for the way was shut when at last she lightly tugged the reigns before the gates of the living. She could hear the furtive movement beyond her sight, and waited. Her herald was not a talkative fellow, and it would be unbecoming to beg entry like some leprous refugee. She needed no heraldry to announce her allegiance, the banner-bearer and the beast bearing her were the banners themselves. She was unwelcome, but he was expected.
A hushed dispute of some manner was at length settled, and the great banded door did swing to reveal an unlikely couple. The man was finely dressed in clothes of a black lesser men might only possess in their sinful hearts. He could not possibly have escaped his second decade, though he stood with the swagger only fresh acquired authority can bring. The woman was thrice his age, though equally as garbed in a milkmaid's entire wardrobe worth of ravenskin fabric. One hand fluttering weakly before her mouth she clutched his sleeve in veiny fingers and stuttered in her steps more than her modest amount of wrinkles warranted.
How starvingly she longed to hold onto the arm of a man in such a manner. The dame's expression was aghast and washed in pained confusion, but swapped with she would have been in half a heartbeat if it meant no longer being denied. It mattered not. Neither of the pair gave any honor to the woman draped in a summer's sky sat atop a horse so regal and disciplined as could hardly be believed. No, their greetings were only for the once a man that stood mutely by her side.
“Jesus and the saints be merciful, is that Eberhard?”
She couldn't say, as she was unsure what given name the once a man once held claim to. She knew only that he was a sprig of one branch or another from the local dynasty whose borders generally abutted the Covenant's. She was poorly versed in the annals of this new land but had been informed the previous count was long dead. His son had only come into power recently, being a child at the time of ascension. Such trivial politics of ants meant little to the Magi, as long as the new drone upheld the bargains of his predecessor. After a few years this one it seemed finally felt secure enough in his position to request a boon from the Covenant.
He had written to the Magi humbly asking for the remains of his nephew or some such relative of that nature to be returned for burial with others of his family. It appeared that a few years hence the oaf had done a grievance towards the Magi. The details were murky, as none had felt it worthwhile explaining to her further. She knew intimately though that the Magi were wroth in their wrath. His body had been laboring for them since.
“Johann, I think that is Eberhard. God in Heaven...”
The Covenant had dressed his corpse in reasonably well fitting clothes and armour, the servants tasked to conceal as best possible the effects of soldiering and slaving for the Magi. A maile coif obscured his lack of hair and missing chunk of skull. The armour, albeit somewhat rusty, covered the withered wreckage of his torso and limbs. The inside of his jaw had been sewn to the roof of his mouth so it would not hang limp, and his eyeholes covered by a wide strip of folded linen. Wound securely about his head and held in place beneath the chain, it hindered him not. He retained only half or so of his fingers, but the mittens had been stuffed with straw where needed and the slit sewn shut.
He was about as handsome and dignified in appearance as an abused corpse could be. She had been reminded to take careful note of the new Count's gratitude and thanks, to judge the sincerity of his friendship with the Magi. She was likewise ordered to attend the internment, as a token of the Covenant's good will and reminder of the Magi's generosity.
The youth now acting as the lady's crutch swallowed an apple and clenched his eyes, before shushing his hanger on and turning towards the escort. His focus slipped at first from her to the dead stallion. Excusable she thought, he was a magnificent creature intentionally spared the rigors of the plow or battle. Hungarian by birth, he boasted reminiscently of a gait as smooth as his coat. The missing eye had been replaced with a polished stone in such a subtle way even she had not noticed for some time. Calm and obedient, flawless save an untoward slimness stretching the skin across his ribs. So prestigious was his lineage only twice had she been permitted to ride him.
Rare she thought, to see a youth that age more interested in horseflesh than the flesh of a woman. But he regained his graces and dragged his eyes from the palfrey to the person. She sat as proud and straight as a woman could with her legs spread astride a horse. Her cyclas, cleverly divided, was spotless as she had not left the saddle but very briefly since beginning her moonlit ride. She had nothing to fear napping as she rode, no wolf on two legs or four would dare approach her this close to the Covenant, let along nip at her heels.
Still, she was impatient to recline upon a softer seat and some of that irritation must have have shown in her gaze. For when his eyes met hers he seemed to lose himself a moment. Though it was merely an overcast day the winter in her irises caused him to shiver. He knelt, though she wondered if such diffidence was nothing but salvaging his leg giving way.
“M, my Lady. On behalf of Cou, the Count Frederick IV of Zollern, welcome to Hechigen. I am the Count's kin, Jo, Johann Hohenzollern. The lady here is Katharina of Montbéliard.”
“I am of the Covenant. I know not the names of my companions.”
“I... uhm... yes, it is an honor er, my Lady. I was tasked by my Count to receive the remains of my brother, Eberhard. Is... are... those his remains?”
She turned to face the once a man as the youth rose and the Lady Katharina of Montbéliard took a few small steps forward, hand outstretched. She could only imagine it was the man they were expecting, why else would the Magi willingly discard a moderately useful slave? Other servants had spent some time determining which specific corpse to restore, rather than conveniently picking the nearest or least useful. 'Twould likely be prudent to ask though. Her soft voice breezed out.
“Kneel if your name was Eberhard.”
The once a man must have forgotten he was wearing armour, for his descent was not as graceful as it might regularly be. Still, take a knee he did indeed, even lowering his head demurely and placing a maile mitten to his heart. The dead were well known to persist in their habits, he likely would have kept his courtly manners even if told to salute a hog.
“Oooughgod...”
The lady turned away as the youth blanched. The slaves of the Covenant were certainly no secret, but she mused that mayhaps these two had never seen one so close. Believing neither would expedite the day's events, she just dismounted unaided and covertly knuckled her lower back. At this the youth, Johann was it, started and moved to hold the reins of her horse. A polite gesture, if wasted.
“My... my Lady, is there something you wish of us? I have servants to carry Eberhard's remains to the church.”
At that he motioned with a light wave to some men nervously idling just through the gate. They stepped out and stood at attention in a row of four on either side, clearly unsure of what was desired of them. She looked at the youth with mild curiosity. Carry him? Why bother, he could walk.
Even then surely it would not require eight men to carry a single corpse. It was true the armour added to the burden, but dead as dry and damaged as he were actually quite light. Conscious of the Magi's commands, she lightly laid a hand upon the sleeve of the youth. He stiffened, as if in fright. She wondered if he had held suspicions she was not corporeal.
“Am I unwelcome at your funeral?”
“My fu... My... um... That is, no... my Lady. We would be... honored by your, uh... presence.”
He quailed as he acquiesced, voice a barely audible whisper by his final words. His grip clenched the reins and he breathed tensely for a moment with eyes closed before turning once more to the once a brother.
“Can he... hear me?”
She nodded twice, then again a few moments later, only to speak upon realization he spared her not a glance and didn't see.
“Yes, he understands.”
This lack of attention was failing to bolster the fragile confidence she placed in her appearance. Could she not even capture the gaze of an eager youth? Little wonder then the one she wanted neglected and refuted her.
“Eberhard, let us go. You can be with your forefathers.”
There was no response, nor acknowledgment. She lifted her fingers from his sleeve and gestured down to the kneeling figure.
“You need to be more specific. Tell him to come with you.”
“I... see. Eberhard, will you follow me?”
“No, tell him to follow you.”
“Uhm... Eberhard, follow me.”
Yet still a lack of motion from the commanded, prompting the youth to give her a pained and searching expression.
“He cannot follow if you do not move. Lead the way.”
_________________________________________________
She spoke no Latin. The service then was disappointingly as dull as the ride through the woods. None of those present would speak with her either in the new tongue planted on her palate. She was not blind though to the mixture of emotions their skittish formality could never wholly conceal. It mattered not. She was not expected to judge their respect or dedication to the alliance.
Only the lord mattered and he had kissed her hand acceptably well, though he looked close to swallowing his tongue before and after. In this gray house of God, the ravens had left the rafters and perched upon the pews. Those of less means and importance huddled like a flock of sparrows and doves in the wings, drab in their colors and glum in their postures. She wondered if any of them understood the Latin either.
Uncomfortable with how the once a man was walking, a wooden stretcher had been brought forth just inside the gate. He was told to lay upon it and be still. His arms were crossed, a branch of some plant she didn't recognize was placed in his hand, and a shroud was cast over him. He had to all appearances then seemed a corpse, his outline softened by concealment of cloth.
All had been well until he, apparently understanding better than she, had interpreted some part of the prayers as a command to act and risen his arms to Heaven beseechingly. The screams subsided to sobs only after the priest hurriedly declared it a miracle displaying the departed's great piety and love of the Lord. So strong was his righteous faith it persisted in his body after the spirit had departed. She was unsure about that last detail, having never been graced with the particulars of how the Magi brought about the once men and women.
Said priest had been close to barring her entrance. Only when the youth rushed ahead and grabbed down his outstretched arm, furiously whispering to him did he relent. Now she sat in front beside the Count, a piece of polished lazuli among the coals. Only the ember of the priest did smolder though, the others ashen faced. There was no small number of mourners, this Eberhard must have been popular.
She might have guessed the Count to be no older than her, had she any notion at all of her specific age. He seemed unwed, the Lady Katharina of Montbéliard the dejected heap opposite her. She suspected the sermon was made longer than the norm on account of her presence. She had not yet decided if this should be reported to the Magi, or if they would perceive it as mere vanity. Though admittedly she had attended rather few spiritual ministrations since her pact with the Magi, so perhaps there was no irregularity.
The angels painted onto the walls fascinated her. The Lord was such a mystery to her. She revered the Father of course. He who was wise and knew all things. The king of the heavenly host, whose son was loved by all yet killed by a spear. As well the rest. The great leviathan of the sea, the great snarling beast who would be there at the end times. The great deceiver with his tricks and deals.
All these things were so familiar to her, and yet there was a sheet of ice between her memory and her mind. Even before the Magi, she had felt oddly not herself. Before that man's hand had laid upon hers it was all fog and shadows. But something called to her. The angels felt so close.
A pity the once a man had not told her more of his experiences beyond life. Now she would never have a chance to study from him, as his stretcher was being born away to his grave by angels quite a less impressive sight than the paintings. Soldiers, armoured and armed, walked behind her as she and the Lady Katharina of Montbéliard did walk behind the Count. To the graveyard for this one, only direct and immediate family being interred in the castle on the hill. A reasonable requirement she felt, she had seen the castle from afar and there was likely not a lot of room.
She could recall observing very few burials. Though the dead were common in her life their bodies were merely left where they lay should she be elsewhere or put to work if they died in the Covenant. She distantly remembered funerals which had perhaps involved more music and flames than the handful of candles and dour prayer used for this ceremony. But here it seemed death was a quiet affair even for the wealthy, with the departed placed in a box intact but without any of their worldly possessions aside from clothes and a cross. Relatively intact, as the case may be.
A coffin of stone had been prepared, and when he was placed inside the lid was laid atop. The whole was set about knee height on a shelf, within a curious little building at the center of the town's graveyard. The lid seemed heavy but not particularly thick. It was not cemented in place, leaving a crack along the perimeter. She wondered if he could hear her in there should she raise her voice. She was tempted to try but had at the moment nothing she wished to order him to do.
The family knelt before the entrance, and she followed suit. She did not pray with them though, as she knew not the words. The space within was mostly consumed by prior departed or future occupants, leaving little room for visitors of the present to stand. As the youth gave the Lady Katharina of Montbéliard an arm to lean on and the various mourners shuffled in and out, she stood beside the Count. Watching them wander off in various directions she concluded the ceremony completed.
Beyond now the border of rigid formality, she faced the Count. He seemed not to hear her words, gazing down at some clump of dirt, hands clasped behind him. His nice face would soon bare the marks of age if he kept his brow thus furrowed. She spoke again, placing her hand upon his sleeve. It was not the same. It felt nothing as the way it did holding onto that man.
“Eh? Oh, Lord, please forgive me My Lady, I was lost... in thought.”
“I asked you why he served the Covenant.”
The drought of blood which afflicted his face worsened to the dusty sheets which covered the North seas. He dropped the pretense of civility and beheld her with naked fear. No longer poised, a tear dangling suspended broke it's quivering hold on the corner of his eye, as his voice did tremble in echo of that fragile droplet.
“Is this the true test of the Magi? God above, what hidden meaning does your question hold?”
“My lord?”
“I... he...”
The jagged chasm between them widened much further than a pace as he stepped away and looked into her quizzical face. He wiped his face with a palm that did nothing to dry him.
“I had such dread those words would come, from the moment I beheld it was you the Magi sent as their emissary. I knew it was a message, a warning. Mary shelter me, why must you ask what you already know?”
“My lord?”
“He did not recognize you. Before, when you were unknown to us. He came across you on the road merely by chance, I swear by my soul. Forgive my house, I beg of you.”
“My lord? What did he do?”
“He... he tried to have his way with you. God, I deny nothing. The shame will never leave my family, I swear to you I only want peace with the Magi. On my honor I had nothing to do with it, I didn't even know until inquiring to your masters. I explained in my second letter that I felt the matter settled and merely wanted to put him to rest so my people would see it as passed. I asked for the knight which slayed him to accompany the body so I might tell him this with my own voice.”
She did not remember. She had been attacked so many times by so much worse than a lusty fool, such minor events failed to leave a mark. Nor did she know that the Covenant had any knights? The Count was likely just assuming the warrior which rescued her was noble in blood as well as deed. It could not have been very lengthy a fight, nor could the hound have gotten a taste of her beyond a lick at most. She likely would have at least some recollection of that, even if the face of the assailant was scratched off the mural of her mind.
Huh. The Count had spent all this time believing his relative was being punished for transgressing against her. He obviously knew not the heartlessness of the Magi.
They would not have cared if she was violated. As long as her body was not permanently damaged they would have dismissed her complaints at being soiled. The only reason he slaved for the Covenant was because that was their druthers towards all dead bodies that should chance to be in their domain. It was unlikely anyone beyond the Magi and her savior even knew the circumstances in which he had been struck down.
She smiled. Placing her hand on those clasped before her in supplication after the Count had fallen to his knees.
“Rise my lord, the Covenant holds no grievance against you.”
Rise he did not, but rather hunch ever more. Supporting himself with splayed arm he held a hand pressed to his face as tears openly leaked through his fingers and rained upon the grass. She decided the kinder thing would be to speak no more. Ironic really, she mused. She had planned on holding her tongue from the beginning yet only at the end did she cloak herself in quiet. She swished her cyclas while striding towards her steed, reflecting.
The Count was young. It was a cruel and violent world of course, but baring the ravages of disease he would like as not rule for far longer than she would survive her servitude to the Magi. This particular noble struck her as very unlikely to threaten or challenge the Covenant in any way. It would be to their mutual benefit for him to lord over this region with the Covenant's tacit support for decades to come. The Magi would desire only a brief summation of her visit, and she would tell them all was well. Nothing of substance was changed. If anything the new Count was an improvement over his father.
The reins hung limp below the horse's head. There was no need to tie them or have a lesser servant hold them; the animal had not taken a step since she left it outside the house of God. Taking them in her hand, she reversed her decision to converse with it during their return and mounted, unaided. After all, it was clear she needed more practice with silence and a dead horse likely had nothing interesting to say.