From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 67: Armed Up for War

Staesis Library Annex

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Prince Alexander accomplished much since the mortician’s last visit. The lamps were now made of obsidian and their flames flickered bright with hope. The air smelled like lemonwood smoke and salt, thanks to the incense the Sandeater brought.

His robes were still made of dyed sackcloth and silk, but now he had a hood made of beetle-chitin and glass-thread. The Sandeater’s fingers had remnants of duststeel, and a proud smile on his face.

A man stepped out of the orchard, barefoot and sun-dark, robes made of dyed sackcloth and silk. He carried a staff made of hardened sand glass and wore earrings shaped like crescent moons.

"You’ve brought it?" the prince asked.

In response, the Sandeater touched his sand glass staff to the casket. Slowly, it opened to reveal three weapons.

"A blade crafted from the finest stormglass--found only during the fiercest of sandstorms. A pair of gloves, hand-embroidered with memory-glyphs. And a whistle, made of genuine human bone."

The prince reached toward the enchanted items which glittered with the promise of revenge. But just as his corpse-gray fingertips barely touched the blade, he paused.

"These will kill him?"

"They will do what you cannot," the Sandeater said. "They will finish what your father left undone."

Prince Alexander studied the gloves first.

"Mayor Gray will fall."

"Your brother will fall," the Sandeater corrected.

Alexander didn’t flinch. Mayor Gray ceased to be his brother since he had been sentenced to the Loop.

"Yes."

+

Lucian wondered just how long he’d been away. The last time he’d been to the Annex, the stones had cracks on them and everyone had been lying down in any spare coffins they could find in the mausoleum.

But now? The library had significantly improved. Instead of stone, most of the shelves were now made of sandstone and pearl. Near the entrance was a prayer glyph: not for wisdom, but for mercy.

Merry’s expression softened when she saw it. "That is not a glyph I’ve seen in a long time. Nearly three hundred years...I was wondering if anyone else knew the old prayer glyphs the druids created."

Lucian knocked on the dark-oak door, expecting to be turned away somehow.

The ensuing silence swallowed him like velvet. He feared the worst--but then he heard her voice.

"I was wondering when you’d darken my door again."

+

They were in the sitting room once more, but all of the chairs had been repaired. It was more comfortable to sit now, and felt like a true library.

Now that he could get a better look at her, Lucian noticed Gethra hadn’t aged a day. But she didn’t look young either. There was something unfinished about her--like she was the echo of a divine being that no longer needed to blend in.

Gethra was seated on a tall velvet armchair with three patches on it. Now that the library was lit with obsidian lamps, he saw the rune halo more clearly now--it featured different words in languages he could and couldn’t read.

They were served tea in chipped cups and saucers, but it was no longer spoiled. The tea now smelled fresh and herbal.

"How long was I gone?" Lucian asked her.

"It’s been a year since you left us," Gethra said quietly. "time moves differently in the Vale."

A full year and I don’t feel any different? Wow. She noticed his surprise and said kindly, "The threads of the Spinnermaid reached far and wide across this world. When she rested for the final time, everyone who barters in grief was affected."

Gethra removed her horn-rimmed glasses and wiped her eyes. "She was dedicated to her work...I thought she would never choose a successor. May I see?"

Lucian brought out the Loom and she gasped when she saw it. "I only ever glimpsed it in books. It is more beautiful in person. Now...why have you returned to us?"

"I’m being hunted," he said without preamble.

"Ah. So that was the scent that came in." Gethra wrinkled her nose, like there was a smell she couldn’t get rid of.

"Is it that bad?"

"Only to angels," she replied. "To me, it’s like a strong perfume. Marked for execution..." Gethra gazed up at the ceiling and her eyes glowed. "The Code never forgets. Especially when we are reminded."

She coughed and suddenly she was herself again. "Sorry. Old habits."

"You aren’t surprised?"

She looked down at the Loom and one of her tanned fingers selected a long piece of pale blue thread. "Like I said. I used to be divine. I taught the Maid to weave, after all."

Lucian stared as her hands moved like water. The multicolored thread easily lent itself to her touch, and he noticed she was making a small pocket square.

"You gave her the Loom?"

Gethra shook her head. "I was only assigned to teach someone how to weave grief. She perfected it."

"Why didn’t you tell me any of this when we met?" Lucian asked. She chuckled. "Because it would have been too tall a tale, even for you. Would you have believed that in a faraway land, the forest shifts to show you grief you tried so hard to bury?"

Well, when she put it that way, Lucian had to admit she had a point. But it didn’t hurt any less. "You could have warned me."

She looked at him gently.

"Then I wouldn’t have seen what kind of man you would become when your past finally caught you."

She brought them into a hidden reading chamber. Runes floated like inkfish in the air—living pages whispering secrets too dangerous to rest.

Alice stopped to admire one shaped like a knot.

"That one’s a prayer in six languages," Gethra said. "And a warning in five."

Lucian took a deep breath.

"You escaped your old world, didn’t you? How?"

Gethra hesitated and then passed a hand over her own face. Suddenly, he was more aware of how bright her halo of runes were. They pulsed once, as if in greeting.

"I’m no longer a full-fledged angel," she said softly. "But I was able to build a new life."

The halo crackled as she pulled a book from a hidden alcove.

It didn’t look like a Grimoire--but it reminded Lucian of a judgment ledger. It was a slim volume but he had no doubt it carried emotional weight, like his book and the Loom.

"Before I left my world, I used this. Think of it as the angelic equivalent of the Loom. Made from blessed leather and paper...practically impossible to burn."

She flipped it open.

"And I wrote one truth into it."

Lucian leaned closer.

Gethra whispered, "I wrote that I died."

The room fell silent.

"You faked your death?" Cadrel asked, stunned.

"No," she said. "I recorded that I was dead. I failed my original purpose, shortly after I taught the Maid to weave. Sentenced to death for treason to the Divine Architect. It was written in every law, prophecy, and divine record."

She closed her eyes as if reliving the story she was telling. "So I simply decided to remove myself from the present narrative and begin another."

Alice still looked a little confused.

"When someone writes their truth on the Celestial Ledger, it is recorded across universes. In all timelines, I am very much dead. This is my world until I pass on. That is what you give up. All other versions of yourself--all possible pathways--will end."

Merry whispered, "You declared yourself the only Gethra alive. Rewrote your own end."

The once-angel nodded, and Lucian commented, "That’s why you don’t have wings."

Gethra smiled. "Not permanent ones, no. But they appear sometimes, in the right light."

She took a sip of tea before she continued.

"And the moment the book accepted the line, it became reality in that world. My death was sealed, and I slipped away with the Ledger before the other angels could track me."

Lucian looked down at the Loom.

"So you think I can do the same?"

Gethra bowed her head. "Yes. This Ledger allows you to rewrite the truth only once, though. And then no more."

Lucian swallowed hard. His problems could end right now, if he wrote his truth on the Celestial Ledger. But what would he write?

That I finished her rite? Should I write down ’I didn’t cheat grief counseling back in school’ ? Or...that I never rang the bell in Staesis?