Sikras
SIKRAS SPIED THE BACKof Death’s robed figure, scythe in her hand. The urge to rush to the mortal realm burned inside him, but his feet remained anchored in Enos. He couldn’t leave yet. Not without knowing. “Is she ...?”
Death spun toward the sound of Sikras’s disembodied voice, an unusual aura of pity around her. “The Goddess Tiagon has already taken Imri’s soul.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nikabod. I know you wanted to say goodbye.”
“No, it’s ...” How did his heart squeeze so mercilessly when the heart he had in Enos was only an illusion? Sikras had wanted to tell Imri so many things. Perhaps it was better this way. “It’s fine. She’s free. She’s with her goddess. That’s all that matters. Imri and I knew going in that we weren’t destined for forever.” Eternal joy was never promised. Not when godless heathens fell for the devout.
“If it brings any comfort,” Death said, “her essence is here in my garden again, home once more. Perhaps you could say your farewells to that part of her.”
“Yeah.” Once Sikras started nodding, he couldn’t stop, until he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ll, uh ... I’ll be back to do that. I’ve only got a few lives left, and the clock is still ticking, so ... I must go resurrect Benjamin.”
Another pause. “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Nikabod.”
Something about the statement unsettled him, but he blinked back into the mortal world without pressing the issue. Sikras grit his teeth as the Cat’s Eye spread through his body, torso to fingertips, restoring broken bones and fusing torn flesh.
Another life down. Three to go.
Helspira’s voice met his ears, sweeter than a choir and the first thing he heard besides his own gasping breath. “Sikras?”
Her features sharpened into view. Sikras tried to banish her worry with a grin. “Told you I’d be back.”
A sigh of relief flew through her lips, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t care how many more times you can crawl back from the grave,” she mumbled into his neck. “I never want to watch you die again.”
The pressure of her body against his was euphoric. Sikras breathed in the scent of her, campfire and iron and sweat, before slowly pulling out of the embrace. He tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. Blood and bone, even bathed in red, she was a vision. “I’ve half a mind to kiss you, but you’ve got a little something right”—he gestured to her entire body, coated head to toe in Ithusa’s blood—“here.”
The red in her cheeks deepened. For a moment, it looked as if she was lost in his gaze, until realization finally lit her organic eye. “Ben!” She crawled across the snow-covered ground to retrieve the cloak, leaving a crimson trail, then returned to Sikras. “I hope he’s all still here.”
It was strange to see how a man who once stood over six feet tall could fit inside a cloak-turned-carrier when his bones condensed into a pile. A quick survey of the skeleton confirmed most, if not all, of him was present. Now all Sikras had to hope for was that Death stayed true to her word. He located the life thread amongst the pile, pinched it between his fingers, closed his eyes, and, with fresh new fingers courtesy of the Cat’s Eye, he summoned Benjamin’s soul from Enos.
The blue glow of Benjamin's thread burned bright enough to reflect in his eye sockets when Sikras placed the thread-wrapped stone between Benjamin’s ribs. With the power of the spell, scattered bones organized, joints rejoined, and movement returned as Sikras felt his own vigor abandon him to sustain the spell. He lurched forward, the darkness of the locks he could see draped over his forehead re-shifting to their ghostly gray. Muscle mass siphoned, fatigue and aches returned, and the only thing that eased the sting was seeing Benjamin’s bones spring to life to catch Sikras’s shoulders in a sudden grasp.
“I saw her! Imri!” Benjamin squeezed tighter, voice brimming with excitement. “Sikras, Imri was in Enos, essence and soul, all of her. I—I got to see my sister again. Well, see without seeing, however things work in Enos. You know what I’m talking about. But she wasthere. I felt her. Told her I loved her, and she was happy, and ... and then Goddess Tiagon came. She came and took her to the twin gods’ paradise. And Dionus was there too, but Death ...”
As the excitement faded from Benjamin’s voice, Sikras battled a wave of nausea. The immense requirement to tether Benjamin’s soul to his bones weakened Sikras once more, and the world spun around him in a smear of landscape and shapes. Wrestling through the discomfort, he swallowed a rising mouthful of bile and grinned. “Turns out Imri’s soul was trapped here too. But she’s free now. She can finally rest with Tiagon.”
Benjamin relinquished Sikras from his grasp. “Her soul was trapped the whole time? By Dionus’s sword. I’m just glad she’s okay now. If anyone deserves eternal rest, it’s Imri. And Nyllmas is safe?”
“Vessik is dead, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll regale you with the sordid details when the world stops spinning.”
“It’s over, then. That’s it. You did it.” The stark difference in Benjamin’s tone was evident, and he stared off into the distance. “You did it. There’s nothing left to do.”
Sikras nodded. As blissful as it was to enjoy the little things, like proper blood circulation and muscles that atrophy wasn’t ravaging, having Benjamin back made the loss of such frivolities bearable. But something still seemed ... incomplete.
Helspira threw her arms around Benjamin and expressed joy over his return, her words distant echoes on the edge of Sikras’s mind. He inhaled deeply, then released it in a slow, contemplative exhale.
A sudden familiar chill washed away the moment of respite. Somehow he knew she would come.
“Excuse me for a moment; would you both?” Sikras took a final look at his companions, stood, adjusted his collar, and closed the distance between himself and Death.
She watched him, wordless, tattered robes and long locks unmoving despite the wind.
“As much as I enjoy your company, you don’t need to keep visiting me. Vessik is”—Sikras paused, stabbed by guilt over his dear friend’s fate—“is no longer a threat. Imri’s soul can finally rest. Ithusa may have absconded with those souls, but after what Helspira did to her, I doubt she’ll return, unless she suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury in addition to losing all those body parts. It’s over.”
From beneath the impossibly black shadows of her hood came Death’s soft voice. “I think we both know it isn’t.”
Sikras bristled. “A deal is a deal. I did everything I was supposed to do, everything I agreed to do.”
“Yes,” Death said. “You did.”
