She scans the quiet neighbourhood.
They cross an empty intersection, pass an old man painstakingly pedal a flat-tire bicycle heavy with groceries. The house architure and gardens become more elaborate, like mini-castles on their own little isolated land. Some reminds Asorotany of the White Heron Castle with their bright, pristine appearances. Lapping through the sound of nightfall is the hollow, intervals echo of bamboo tocsin and night pray. Wind rustles softly.
The street light blinks on.
"What're you looking for?" He asks the Nomad woman.
"Shh, the wind says we're near." She murmurs.
Asorotany coughs, saying nothing.
They go by a few more houses before stopping at a smaller replica of Matsumoto Castle.
"Ah, we're here,"
A woman's sharp, hushed weeping wavers in the air. Asorotany's instinct alarms. He glances over the Nomad woman. His mind turning as he trying to put the pieces together. He cranes his neck, rotates his head, tracing back to the original point. It's coming from the second-floor window, a blind is drawn so he can't see much. He concentrates hard and picks up the whirring of a machine—a life support machine.
A hoarse, raspy howl pierces through the peaceful setting: "I can feel it. It's close."
The Nomad woman raises her palms. She begins to chant, a dangerously rumbling whisper. Asorotany recognizes her words. It was from the song she had been singing, only this time, every note falls in its correct place. A lullaby that reels him.
Two black circles spin out from where she's standing, glowing with a red edge, the inside design is a combination of a ram and triangles and ancient scrawls on the perimeter. Wind rushes to her, turning into an inverted cyclone around her. Asorotany feels an invisible force shoves him back, kicking him down to the ground. The trees shake and bow.
The crying intensifies over the howling wind. "Honey, honey, stay with me. Stay with me for another night."
As if someone is winding back the suspenders, she rises into the air. Her chin tips back and mouth wide opens in an O. Chest pushes out, elbows draw back, back arches. Her jewelry jingles.
"Hey, what's happening?" Asorotany shouts, shielding his eyes.
The ram skull begins to move on its own accord, lifting from her shoulders. Something wiggles. Asorotany stares afix as the muzzle separates into two. Another skull materializes. The second head jerks left and right as the front hooves spring out. The Nomad woman bends over as the animal's body emerges fully, her chanting ravels into a snarl. The animal stamps down on the ground with a grace of a ballerina. Honeysuckles bloom where its feet touch. It stretches its vertebrae and looks at Asorotany down the slope of its nose.
A black ram. Silky velvet fleece. Hooves pave with a combination of aquamarine, bloodstone and jade. Silver chains, amaryllis and red roses weave together on its horns, forming on crown with a white diamond in the middle of its forehead. Its eyes are the colour of blood, shards of triangular blacks swirling in the pupils. At its neck dangles a necklace with vials filled with vivid-colours liquid.
Asorotany feels wildly awake at the moment, yet his mind is hazy. A nagging feeling begins to nipple at his conscience. This isn't real, he thinks. Yet the animal standing in front of him is as real as ever. He can feel its disdain huff, the intense weight of its gaze on his skin.
It's the same ram he saw in the shrine.
The ram turns sharply and leaps. It lands neatly on the segment of roof directly underneath the second-floor window. It jumps through the panel, slipping like a ghost.
Asorotany holds his breath. He crawls Nomad woman. She's back on her feet now. However, her heels are lift so that she's balancing on her big toe. The muscles of her neck flex as she echos the melody, her voice soften in a gentle cooing. He reaches out for her, but the moment his fingertips touch the edge of the circle, fire sears his flesh. He recoils, blowing on his fingers. The skin turns an angry shade of red.
"Be still, child," She murmurs. Asorotany looks up at her. Her cloak belts out around her ankles. "Don't break the ritual."
Dying wails claws his ears.
"No. No. No no no. Breath, honey, breath. You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine. No. Breath."
The sound piques up, muffles, pitching again, then fallen silence. A nasty cycle that repeats on and on, never ending. Make it stops, make it stops, he squeezes his eyes tight, clutching his head, shudder racks through his body at the rise and fall of the scream. Blood is pounding in his vessels, pulsing in his wrists and his ribs and his legs. Make it stops.
The shrieking continues.
"Fight her. You're stronger. Come on, you can do it. Please. Stay with me. Don't leave me alone." The clashing of voices, like million of daggers, penetrate his head until it's a bloody mess. Make it stops. Blood flows from his eyes and his ears and his mouth. Blood is everywhere. Make it stops make it stops make it stops. He tries to crawl on his feet and runaway, yet finds himself immobilizes, as if someone had placed a rock on his back. He can only endure as the thing slugs on.
After what seems like forever, the crying abruptly cuts. The tut trailing behind is leaden, weighing down on every breath.
Asorotany lays trembling on the ground, curling like child. His lungs hurt wherever he inhales. His bones throb with a foreign pain, a mild spasm starting at his stomach.
The Nomad woman had stopped singing. She stands stock-still. Carefully Asorotany unfolds himself and turns on his knees. His vision tilts and his body almost lost its balance.
The holy ram reappears at the mansion's gate. Following it is a translucent man, middle-aged, pepper hair mats to one side of his head, waxing yellow skin that stretch tight over his sharp, high cheekbones and eagle-beak nose. He moves at a labourish pace, dragging his feet along, lurching like a zombie.
"Oh no, honey? Honey? Answer me. Oh my God. Waking up. Breath again. Honey, oh honey." The woman's mourn bubbles up. The man stops, turning to the house, his chin quivers. The ram pauses, too. It opens its mouth, saying something, the sound is mute to human ears. The man looks longingly at the window, a tear rolls of his cheek, falling onto his shirt. Shaking his head, the man proceeds until he comes in front of the magic circle. There, both him and the ram kneel, head down.
The Nomad woman approaches. She touches the man's shoulder and bows to whisper in his ear. Something ancient. Something divine. A blessing. The man nods and grips her hand with his own shaking, bony ones as she continues to speak. She draws him upright and the man steps inside.
He gasps as wind and ethereal fire envelops him, kissing his scalp, ducking underneath the hem of his shirt. But the man doesn't look scare. He looks amazed, awed like a child. He raises his fingers and toes and watches as the fire wounds itself around his body, his mouth widens.
"There's more to come." She says, holding her arms out. "Come, Owari. To the land of eternal bliss, to the infinity dances with the stars and hunting parties. The gate is wide open."
The man brightens, yet hesitates.
"May I say goodbye to my wife? I want to tell her I'm not burning in hell and she shouldn't be worry."
"Then you must go now. Your soul is in a fragile state. You must reach heaven in order to communicate to any mortal."
He glances back to his house and sadness descends over his brows. He shakes his head a little before nodding. "Alright."
"Excellent. Let the journey commence." She then switches to the ancient language.
The ram comes next the man and erects taller on its forelegs. Tenderly, she tilts his left hand up. The ram licks his palm. The black circles shines, rotates and closing into where the ram and the man are standing. Fire erupts at their feet, consuming their body in bites. The man yelps in surprise as the last bit of him vanishes. Two balls of fire flicker and blow out on its own.
And everything returns to the way it is before. The world resumes its monotone colours. The quietness, the shrubs crackling, the bamboo fences swaying slightly in the wind. Static. Dying ember lingering at the edge of his peripheral field. Not more than a couple of minutes has passed, yet it felt like hours had elapsed.
The Nomad woman sighs and turns to him.
Asorotany stutters, scrambles to his feet. His heart slams against his ribcage as she's near. "You're Are. The Death Goddess."
She laughs, loud. "Good. Very good. You've acknowledge me. Worth the dramatic efforts."
"Oh my God," He breathes, his mind spinning and spinning in circles. "Oh my God." He repeats. The Goddess of Death is real. The Goddess of Death is standing in front of him.
And she can arrange so Fische can communicate to him.
.......
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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Thank you <3
Curious Question: Who would you bring back to life if the God of Death willing to grant you a wish?
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