Simeon sucked in breath. “Yes, of course. The Order of Kushin —”
“Let the old man tell his story,” Ronan said.
“Have you heard of our mummies, my lady?” the monk asked.
“No, but I understand the basic concept, as it is practiced in the desert regions. On death, the body is exposed, and the heat dries it.”
“True, that is their custom. With us, as monks near the end of life, if they do not feel they are close enough to enlightenment, they begin refusing food. Then they start drinking a special tea, which slowly poisons them and preserves their body as it withers from lack of nourishment.”
“They mummify themselves?” Ronan said. “While they’re still alive?”
“When they are nearing the end, they are placed in a special box, dry and heated to create a desert-like environment. Inside is a bell that they ring several times a day. When the bell no longer rings, the box is sealed and transported to the shrine. If the spirits have shown favor, when the box is opened, the monk is mummified. He is then dressed in fine clothing and placed on display, so that pilgrims may reflect on his sacrifice.”
“That is the stupidest —” Ronan began, but he was silenced by Ashyn stepping on his foot.
“That is the purpose of your journey, then?” she said. “You are transporting these… potential mummies?”
“To Westerfox, yes. It is a long and slow procession, but we do it each spring. This time, we bring four boxes.”
His voice lifted, as if this were some great accomplishment, and Ashyn dutifully murmured her congratulations, while secretly agreeing with Ronan. To mummify oneself while still alive? Surely that could not honor the spirits.
The group crested the ridge. Below were two wagons – basic, open affairs, each bearing two coffin-like boxes. Two men huddled around a fire. Both were dressed like the monk – in simple clothing and no shoes. Their camp lay on open ground, with no trees or rocks nearby large enough to conceal attackers.
Ashyn started down the hill. Ronan prompted the monk again to explain the situation.
“It is… difficult,” the monk said.
“Try.”
“I do not mean that I am loath to do so, but that I know what I have to say will be difficult to believe. It would appear… that is to say…” He turned to Ashyn as they walked. “The bells have rung again.”
“The bells…?”
“Inside the boxes. The boxes were sealed and yet the bells ring. Even when the horses are at rest.”
Dread crept into Ashyn’s gut, but she forced it from her voice. “You say, then, that you believe the men within the boxes live.”
“Yes, as impossible as that is.”
“It’s not impossible at all,” Simeon said. “There are ailments that make the victim appear dead, unconscious sometimes for days. Coupled with the mediocre diagnostic skills of the average village healer, it is not surprising that many cultures have incorporated certain checks and balances in their funerary customs, such as laying out the corpse for three nights or —”
“Just say it’s possible,” Ronan said. “I’d like to get this over with before dawn.”
“The young scholar is correct,” the monk said. “That is why we do not seal the box as soon as the bell stops ringing. These are not men who perished a few days ago. The newest stopped ringing his bell a moon past. And the oldest stopped last summer.”
“It is not possible that they live,” Simeon said. “There is a malfunction of the bells. Perhaps earth tremors.”
“It is… more than the bells,” the monk said carefully.
His gaze flitted toward the camp. Beside Ashyn, Tova growled. When she strained to listen, she could catch the sound…
Scratching. She heard a dry, rustling scratching. Then a thump.
She glanced at Ronan and saw his face pale. Simeon continued to insist that what the monk feared was, quite simply, impossible. The dead did not wake. At least, not the long dead.
Simeon knew nothing of what had transpired in Edgewood. To those in the convoy, it had been explained that Ashyn’s village had been beset by a fatal outbreak of illness, which may have spread to Fairview and may not have been a natural occurrence.
Ashyn turned to Simeon. “I must investigate these claims. However, I fear they arise from duplicity. Not the monks, of course. But someone may be tricking them for nefarious purposes, and this ought to be brought to the attention of Prince Tyrus. I need you to go to him now and tell him what has happened.”
“You wish me to wake the prince?”
“You have nothing to fear from Tyrus. Tell him and my sister what has happened and have them come back here with you.”
“Should I not ask a warrior to rouse him?”
“Are you questioning the Seeker?” Ronan snapped.
“The young man is correct,” the monk said. “To question her will is to question the will of the spirits themselves. It is akin to blasphemy.”
“Please,” Ashyn said.
That plea worked. He left after she enjoined him to speak to no one else of this. “There are many superstitious folks in the empire,” she said. “I’d not wish to start outrageous rumors of resurrected mummies.”
Once he was gone, they continued down the hill. Soon it was impossible not to hear the sounds from the boxes – the scrapes and scratches and thuds and bumps.
“I fear their bodies have been possessed by evil spirits,” the monk said. “Though I’ve not heard of such a thing outside of nannies’ tales.”