Urdaisunia Bonus Scene #3: Eruz in the Afterlife
(Eruz POV) (From Chapter 27)
Pain punched through Eruz’s chest, and the world turned upside down –
The sounds of the battle faded, the light died.
Nothingness surrounded him – whether for a breath or for an eternity, he couldn’t say.
Then he found himself standing in a dimly-lit place among a mass of gray, vague shapes more or less in the forms of humans. He looked down at himself; he was as gray and shadowy as the rest. There was no sign of the spear that had torn through his heart or the copious amounts of blood that must have flowed.
So, he had died in battle, as he had feared he would. As he had known he would. Somehow, he had always felt that this would be his fate – it was almost expected that a prince of a warlike people would die in battle. He only hoped his children were safe, and his former wives and zanira, for whom he still felt a sense of responsibility if not love.
And Rashali –
Regret pierced the vague nothingness that filled him. He would not see her again until she came to this place beyond life. Would never know what a child of his Sazar blood and her Urdai heritage would look like. Would never see his other children grow up and have children of their own.
But such was the fate of a High Prince, even a deposed one, whose kingdom was at war. At least he had died an honorable death, even if he had failed at everything else he had tried to do in life.
He looked around and found that he and the rest of the amassed spirits were standing before the high, black walls of an enormous stronghold. A solid double gate, also black, opened a little, then closed again. From the direction of the stronghold came the droning of a deep voice, reverberating across the throngs of the dead. The singer sang a name, a lineage, a list of deeds, then the gates opened briefly and closed again.
Another soul admitted to the Halls of Araskagan, the god of the dead.
Time did not exist here as Araskagan sang one soul after another into His Halls. Slowly, the throng shuffled forward towards the gates. There was nothing to do but wait patiently and listen to the names and lineages and deeds that were sung and look around to see who else was here.
Molded into the gray, shadowy spirits were many countenances he recognized, and many he didn’t but that still held distinct features. He saw his men, his father, his brothers. Generals, soldiers, Urdai and Sangh and Kai Kalle. Had every man who had fought in that battle died? It seemed so.
His spirit-vision sought out Rashali. He didn’t know where she had been during the battle, or even what had become of her after he left her in that cave on the Mother Mountain. Had she already been sung into Araskagan’s Halls? Was she here but concealed from his sight among the multitudes of the dead? Or was she still, by the grace and blessings of all the gods, among the living?
The dead shuffled closer to the gates. His turn would come, Eruz knew. Araskagan would sing his name, Eruzasharbat, High Prince of the Sazars and the Urdai, and his lineage, that he was descended from Gamatusudraz the Conqueror, the great chieftain who had united the Sazars to conquer Urdaisunia and claim a new home for their people, and from Agashtusudram, his son, who had tried to deal honorably with the conquered Urdai. Which of Eruz’s deeds would Araskagan sing? That he had also tried to deal honorably with the Urdai? That he had tried to do what was best for all the people who lived in Urdaisunia? That he had been a loving father and conscientious husband and zanir-master? That he had loved a woman of the Urdai and would give even his own life, anything except his honor and the safety of his family, for her?
He would find out eventually, he thought as the singing went on without ceasing.
Then, beneath Araskagan’s deep chanting, another voice came to him. It was faint, barely on the edges of his perception, but he knew it with every fiber of his soul. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sorrow in it didn’t need words. It tore at the place where his heart had been with a strength that might almost pull him back to the world of the living if such a thing were possible.
But it wasn’t possible.
Araskagan went on singing the dead into his Halls. Bit by bit, Eruz moved closer to the gates. Then Rashali’s voice sounded again, with a cry that tore through the land of the dead.
Araskagan’s singing hesitated briefly, then went on.
Then the very fabric of the world of the dead seemed to shake. Again, the voice of the god of the dead faltered for just a heartbeat – if such a measure had meaning here –before continuing.
A beam of searing brilliance pierced through the gloom. Eruz shielded his spirit-eyes with his spirit-arm. The light dimmed slightly, to a less painful brightness, and he looked to see a white-gowned woman standing in a shining opening in the gray, hazy sky. She was ageless, glorious, brighter than the sun and beautiful beyond words.
“Araskagan,” she said in a soft voice which yet held the piercing clarity of pure crystal. “Cease your singing.”
The low droning stopped. For the first time since the first death of a mortal, the voice of Araskagan fell silent.
“Those of you whose bodies are able to contain your spirits, return if you wish,” the woman of light said.
A sigh arose from the gathered spirits. Longing filled Eruz. Return, he thought. Could he, with his heart torn apart by the spear? But he felt himself drawn away into nothingness again...
Pain filled him, and a desperate need for breath. He gasped, his chest arching upwards. A heavy thudding told him his heart, somehow miraculously whole within him, was beating. His eyes opened to cloudy sky and sought out the face he longed to see.
She was kneeling over him, tears spilling from her dark eyes over cheeks already well-stained from weeping. But it was a smile, not grief, on her lips. Eruz raised a shaking hand and touched her face, brushing her tears with his fingertips. She was real. The tears were wet, her skin was smooth and warm. His chest ached fiercely.
He was alive. Somehow, he was alive. And, he vowed, he would never be parted from her again, until they had lived out the long span of their lives in service to their people and in love with each other.
(Eruz POV) (From Chapter 27)
Pain punched through Eruz’s chest, and the world turned upside down –
The sounds of the battle faded, the light died.
Nothingness surrounded him – whether for a breath or for an eternity, he couldn’t say.
Then he found himself standing in a dimly-lit place among a mass of gray, vague shapes more or less in the forms of humans. He looked down at himself; he was as gray and shadowy as the rest. There was no sign of the spear that had torn through his heart or the copious amounts of blood that must have flowed.
So, he had died in battle, as he had feared he would. As he had known he would. Somehow, he had always felt that this would be his fate – it was almost expected that a prince of a warlike people would die in battle. He only hoped his children were safe, and his former wives and zanira, for whom he still felt a sense of responsibility if not love.
And Rashali –
Regret pierced the vague nothingness that filled him. He would not see her again until she came to this place beyond life. Would never know what a child of his Sazar blood and her Urdai heritage would look like. Would never see his other children grow up and have children of their own.
But such was the fate of a High Prince, even a deposed one, whose kingdom was at war. At least he had died an honorable death, even if he had failed at everything else he had tried to do in life.
He looked around and found that he and the rest of the amassed spirits were standing before the high, black walls of an enormous stronghold. A solid double gate, also black, opened a little, then closed again. From the direction of the stronghold came the droning of a deep voice, reverberating across the throngs of the dead. The singer sang a name, a lineage, a list of deeds, then the gates opened briefly and closed again.
Another soul admitted to the Halls of Araskagan, the god of the dead.
Time did not exist here as Araskagan sang one soul after another into His Halls. Slowly, the throng shuffled forward towards the gates. There was nothing to do but wait patiently and listen to the names and lineages and deeds that were sung and look around to see who else was here.
Molded into the gray, shadowy spirits were many countenances he recognized, and many he didn’t but that still held distinct features. He saw his men, his father, his brothers. Generals, soldiers, Urdai and Sangh and Kai Kalle. Had every man who had fought in that battle died? It seemed so.
His spirit-vision sought out Rashali. He didn’t know where she had been during the battle, or even what had become of her after he left her in that cave on the Mother Mountain. Had she already been sung into Araskagan’s Halls? Was she here but concealed from his sight among the multitudes of the dead? Or was she still, by the grace and blessings of all the gods, among the living?
The dead shuffled closer to the gates. His turn would come, Eruz knew. Araskagan would sing his name, Eruzasharbat, High Prince of the Sazars and the Urdai, and his lineage, that he was descended from Gamatusudraz the Conqueror, the great chieftain who had united the Sazars to conquer Urdaisunia and claim a new home for their people, and from Agashtusudram, his son, who had tried to deal honorably with the conquered Urdai. Which of Eruz’s deeds would Araskagan sing? That he had also tried to deal honorably with the Urdai? That he had tried to do what was best for all the people who lived in Urdaisunia? That he had been a loving father and conscientious husband and zanir-master? That he had loved a woman of the Urdai and would give even his own life, anything except his honor and the safety of his family, for her?
He would find out eventually, he thought as the singing went on without ceasing.
Then, beneath Araskagan’s deep chanting, another voice came to him. It was faint, barely on the edges of his perception, but he knew it with every fiber of his soul. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sorrow in it didn’t need words. It tore at the place where his heart had been with a strength that might almost pull him back to the world of the living if such a thing were possible.
But it wasn’t possible.
Araskagan went on singing the dead into his Halls. Bit by bit, Eruz moved closer to the gates. Then Rashali’s voice sounded again, with a cry that tore through the land of the dead.
Araskagan’s singing hesitated briefly, then went on.
Then the very fabric of the world of the dead seemed to shake. Again, the voice of the god of the dead faltered for just a heartbeat – if such a measure had meaning here –before continuing.
A beam of searing brilliance pierced through the gloom. Eruz shielded his spirit-eyes with his spirit-arm. The light dimmed slightly, to a less painful brightness, and he looked to see a white-gowned woman standing in a shining opening in the gray, hazy sky. She was ageless, glorious, brighter than the sun and beautiful beyond words.
“Araskagan,” she said in a soft voice which yet held the piercing clarity of pure crystal. “Cease your singing.”
The low droning stopped. For the first time since the first death of a mortal, the voice of Araskagan fell silent.
“Those of you whose bodies are able to contain your spirits, return if you wish,” the woman of light said.
A sigh arose from the gathered spirits. Longing filled Eruz. Return, he thought. Could he, with his heart torn apart by the spear? But he felt himself drawn away into nothingness again...
Pain filled him, and a desperate need for breath. He gasped, his chest arching upwards. A heavy thudding told him his heart, somehow miraculously whole within him, was beating. His eyes opened to cloudy sky and sought out the face he longed to see.
She was kneeling over him, tears spilling from her dark eyes over cheeks already well-stained from weeping. But it was a smile, not grief, on her lips. Eruz raised a shaking hand and touched her face, brushing her tears with his fingertips. She was real. The tears were wet, her skin was smooth and warm. His chest ached fiercely.
He was alive. Somehow, he was alive. And, he vowed, he would never be parted from her again, until they had lived out the long span of their lives in service to their people and in love with each other.
