A hundred feet past the dog-leg turn, he ran into the scrub that defined the top end of the beach. There were only two options for the villagers. Either they would dismiss the children’s report as the product of an over-imaginative game, or they would come looking for the frightening stranger. In which case, they would quickly make the same decision he had, and follow him south. The sooner he was out of sight, the higher his chances of escape. Fifteen yards behind the scrub he found a path paralleling the beach. He turned away from the village, and began to walk, alert for any sound of pursuit. None came.
After a hundred yards, the track widened out into a clearing. The sandy floor had been stamped down in a rough circle, hardened by the concerted effort of countless feet. To the east, a small path led back towards the unseen beach. Waves crashing against the shore just beyond the screen of bushes. The birds which had sounded so clearly on the sand were muted here, dulled, as if afraid to disturb the tranquillity. In the centre stood a wooden platform, hewn from trees that could not have stood locally. Marius had not seen a single copse containing wood that straight. Any tree he had sighted on his journey so far had been stunted, wizened, twisted by the wind and the sandy soil into an arthritic cripple. Someone had transported these logs, a massive undertaking for such a tiny, unimportant village. The tower stood eight feet high, and was equally as long. Marius circled it warily. It was four feet wide at either end, and the logs were stacked in such a way that the sides formed ladders. Clearly, people were meant to climb to the top, but for what purpose? Marius set his foot on the lowest rung. If nothing else, he should be able to see the surrounding countryside from the top, perhaps spot any pursuit, and plan the next stage of his journey. He hauled himself upwards. Once his head cleared the top he paused. A body lay in repose upon the log shelf. His eyes were closed, his hands crossed over his chest. He was dressed in what were obviously his best clothes – a simple shirt and trousers, with a dun cloak over one shoulder. Frayed at the edges, worn thin by years of wear, but clean and patched, and beaten smooth so that they lay comfortably over his dead flesh. Marius nodded. Of course. A funeral table. It made sense now. The surrounding land was too sandy to accord a decent burial, and what fertile land there was could not be wasted for the task – the villagers needed it to grow whatever poor crops they could. The body before him would make perfect fertiliser, Marius knew. But he wasn’t about to climb back down and educate the villagers. Exposure as a method of burial, then, and the bones consigned to the nearby sea once they had been picked clean. Which meant the clearing, and the beach beyond, were undoubtedly sacred ground. Marius relaxed. Sacred ground meant taboos, and taboos meant that the villagers, even should they be pursuing him, would not rush into the clearing without some form of permission, or preparation, or prayer. He would have time to work things out. He climbed to the top of the table, and sat on the edge, laying Nandus’ crown down next to him and flexing his fingers. The view was really quite exhilarating. As he surmised, a small, enclosed beach lay to the east, waves crashing with some anger against a steeply rising stone slope. To the west, the scrub rose gently into a series of low-lying hills that Marius recognised as the tail end of the Spinal Ranges. With a grin, he placed the world around him. South must lie Borgho City, and if he followed the mountains a day or two, and turned north, he’d wander into the outer fringes of Vernus. Which meant, he thought, turning his neck to peer to the southwest, the highway from Vernus to Scorby lay in that direction, maybe no more than two or three days’ walk, especially if he had no need to sleep or rest. Which meant he could be in Scorby City itself in little over a week, assuming he could keep himself hidden, and avoid confrontations, and find a way to enter the city without arousing suspicion. Then all he had to do was spirit the King away before his entombment, and get him out of the city without being seen… That part of the plan could wait, he decided. He had plenty of time to consider his options as he walked. Any motion was better than none. He reached down to recover the crown.
A hand was wrapped around the thin band of gold. Marius stared down at it. The dead man’s hand was gripping the crown. As Marius watched, the corpse raised it so it hung over his expressionless face. His eyes sprung open, focussing first upon the crown and then sliding over so that he gazed directly at Marius. A blackened tongue slid out from between his lips, licked them, and returned. He and Marius stared at each other for long seconds. Then the corpse sat up, and extended his hand.
“I am Vun,” he said. “Tanning Master of the village of Ebthek.”
“Marius Helles,” Marius took his hand and shook it. Vun looked about himself.
“Ah,” he said, taking in his perch. “It appears one of us is dead. Or perhaps,” he looked himself over, and Marius, “both of us. Are you to be my guide?”
“Uh, no. No, I’m afraid not. I’m just passing through, actually.” Marius indicated the circlet. “I have a… task, I have to complete.”
“I see.” Vun sat up fully, and swung his legs over the edge of the platform. “So I am dead, yes, but not yet in the land of the dead. How is this so?”
Marius shrugged. “I wish I knew. I’m in a similar position. It’s… confusing, to say the least.”
“Confusing? What is to be confused about? We are dead. It is a simple enough thing.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Vun indicated their surroundings. “Life is simple, friend Marius. Death more so. No need to complicate matters. Here,” he handed the crown back. “Complete your task, and good luck to you. Then meet me in the land of the dead.” He swung his feet back up and lay down again. “I will look for you.”
“But… don’t you know what’s going to happen to you?”
“It already has, friend.”
“No, I mean…” Marius pointed to the sky. “You’re out here for the birds. They’re going to peck at you until you’re nothing but bones. And then your villagers are going to climb up here and throw those bones in the ocean. There’s no land of the dead for you in that.”
Vun laughed. If there was one sound he was never going to get used to, Marius decided, it was a dead man’s laugh. “Have you no faith, friend? Do you not follow the Truthful Way?”
Marius sighed. When some people talked, you could just hear the capitals. “No.”
“The body is a jar of clay, my friend, a vessel for the soul. The bird is a messenger from Heaven. He breaks the jar and sets the soul free. I shall walk through the Kingdom of the Dead as a transformed being. Higher, purer, more worthy of God. And I shall look for you, and hope to find you there.” He closed his eyes, and Marius realised why there was no expression on his face. He was at peace. Marius sighed again.
“I envy you your faith,” he said, and realised with a start that, just at this moment, he did. He looked up at the birdless sky. “But…”