Lucien Mortis's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The morning after the water tried to drown him, Lucien stayed inside the tomb. He sat beside the silver coffin and watched the red braid rest in its stone hollow. He would not chase phantoms again. But he did not know where to begin. Somewhere she truly waited, and he had no map to her. Then a light moved at the door. A woman stood just past the iron threshold. He could see the crow on the stone above her through her body. She glowed white, like fog with a shape. Two braids fell over her shoulders. She had no face, only a pale blank where a face should be. She lifted one thin hand toward him. Lucien did not move. He had learned what these lures cost. "Speak," he said. "Tell me your name." "Jarnissa," the shape said. The voice was soft and even. It was not his love's voice. That alone made him listen. "I know where she rests. Not here. Follow me." His chest ached to believe her. He gripped the coffin's edge. "The last thing that called me had teeth. Why should I trust you?" "You shouldn't," Jarnissa said. "But you will follow, because you have nothing else." That answer stopped him. A monster would have promised. It would have sung sweet and begged him close. This spirit only stated the plain, ugly truth. He rose to his feet. A grey cat slipped past the door and crossed the floor. It had no fur, only wrinkled skin the color of ash. Its blue eyes fixed on Jarnissa. It did not hiss. It did not run. It sat between Lucien and the spirit and stared, calm and watchful. Lucien remembered the frogs falling silent before the hound rose. Animals knew a false thing when it came. This cat only waited. "Test me," Jarnissa said. "Ask the water to sing. It cannot. Ask me anything." "Where does she rest?" he said. "Past the cypress and the pale mushrooms, where the pines grow thick and the water turns clear. There is another stone there, smaller than this one. You never knew it was hers." Lucien's hands went cold. The braid he had sealed here proved something of her lingered. But he had built this tomb himself. He had never questioned it held her. If another stone waited in the deep bayou, then he had guarded the wrong grave for six months. He looked at the cat. It stood, turned, and walked toward the door, tail low. It followed the spirit. It did not fear her. "I will come," Lucien said. "But I bring the braid." "Bring it," Jarnissa said. "You will need it where we go." He lifted the red braid from the hollow. The stone face looked emptier without it. He stepped out of the tomb into the wet green light, following a dead woman toward a grave he had never known existed.