Episode 47 - Demise Part 1

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  Welcome back to the podcast and back to a story that likely did not keep you in suspense as you waited the two weeks between episodes. After all, what did you have to wait for? You had to know how it ended, right? There was never really anything all that subtle about it. 

I told you in no uncertain terms how it ended for The Haunted Void. He died. He was murdered, in fact, not just like his brother but to emphasis the specifics just seems like a bit of a hair split. Then again, given how this story goes, perhaps it did not need to be said at all. There are only a few ways out of this story. Either you are literally dead or some part of your humanity is figuratively dead. And if the Haunted Void remains, in my mind, a good person, then it couldn’t have been the latter. It had to be a physical death. Preferably a tragic one, that does not come with a sense of closure.

But at the same time, maybe you did care about the specifics on why it happened. Sorry. How it happened, I meant. You might care about how specifically it happened. The methodology, as some true crime creators call it. And I don’t know if they’re using the term correctly or not. They probably are not, just… all things considered. All the lack of care and consideration that they put into their content. 

And hey, there’s plenty of room for intrigue in the how, I’ll admit. And maybe that’s what you’re concerned with: the how. It seems a bit morbid or perverse, but I recognize the impulse.

(Pause) Also… Well, I’ll answer the question I unintentionally asked before. There isn’t a good answer to why. I don’t know why I brought it up. It just slipped out. And here’s the thing, I could have fixed that in post, right? I could have edited that flub out. That’s, like, a thing I can do. I may not be a great sound editor, but I am capable of that much. But I chose not to. And I could have chosen not to bring attention to it, like I currently am doing, but I have still chosen to do that. I want you to know that I know how to be intentional. I know how to slip things in and out. I know that you are not intensely watching my editorial process. I know that privacy gives me freedom. 

But forget all that I know, for a second, do you know there is a lot at play in this podcast? Do you know there is a lot of details or thoughts or stories that I have to juggle while I work? Much of it goes unsaid, and I think a lot of it went unnoticed. I didn’t mean for it to all be unnoticed. It just had to be. 

In any event, maybe you want to know the answer as to why. That is also a human impulse. We do not just want to know the details of bad things that happen so we can pick apart the details and examine them for any warning signs that could guide us throughout our lives. In the case of why, we are searching for those more subtle, unseen reasons. Motivations give actions purpose, and if we avoid those purposes or the circumstances that bear them, we are safer. We can avoid danger. We can live the life we want with a few alterations meant to extend that life. And through it all, we would call it a fair exchange. (Extended - Music fades out) A fair exchange in a larger world that would still feel fair in one way or another. It would feel fair because bad things wouldn’t just happen spontaneously. Bad things wouldn’t just occur randomly. They wouldn’t just be there. But the truth is, they are. They just happen. Not quite randomly. But close. Or sometimes randomly, sometimes it might as well be random.

But no, the Haunted Void didn’t die for a reason. He just died. 

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Eyes watched the crypt door as Vernin hid within. One set of eyes, of course. To many in and around the castle, there was no need to keep watch on the man. The sight of grief did not amuse many. The grief of a bastard brother, even less so. This visit to the crypt had to be a formality, did it not? Or so some would say it was. Grief was part of reverence, and so, it had to be shown to superiors. It had to be shown to those lifted up for whatever reason their exultation might have come. In this case, it was not a matter of blood or deed but maternity that set the two brothers apart. It was not a great reason, but the thought could not be explored further. 

Wane had no interest in any of that. He found interest in other things and in places where others would not have expected or thought to look. This was one of those instances. He did care about the bastard’s grief. From the soil of that grief would spring up choices. And those choices were of great interest to Wane. And so, why not consider the process as a whole? A farmer studies every step of his product’s growth. The shepherd knows the life cycles of his sheep. And Wane considered himself no different. His craft might have been questionable, but it was still his. 

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I wasn’t there when the Haunted Void died. Obviously. Or not. Regardless, I wasn’t there. I heard about it through the not so usual forums, the online forums. Symbolic Myst. The one spot where our paths overlap. It started with the observation that he wasn’t there anymore, he wasn’t logging on, he wasn’t doing this, that, or the other things etc, etc. The usual behavior was gone, which I guess was the first sign that something was wrong. I mean we couldn’t physically see his presence, just this sign of it. And come to think of it, that makes sense. The part of you that other people see or observe would obviously be the first to go. It is this outer realm that gets pulled back first. It’s almost as if we collapse into ourselves when we die. The rate changes from death to death, but that is the innate pattern as written into our nature. 

His behavior was gone first. Then we stopped feeling the lingering reminiscence of his presence. And then he was gone. 

Of course, by the time we had noticed, he was long since physically dead. It had unfurled for us with a noticeable delay. We were an echo of the process, I would call it. But information still reached us, slowly at first. And not then all at once, which would have felt like a reference to something had I said it, even if it was inaccurate, I can’t put my tongue on. Slowly and then all at once, I think the full reference goes, this reference I can’t name, but also is not relevant here. Revelations always came slowly for us. But they never stopped coming. But even at that pace, each one came at me hard. Each one knocked me back. Because I did respect The Haunted Void, and for the first time, I could see what everything around me truly was. I couldn’t do anything with that information. But I could see it. For once, I could see it, and there was power in that. 

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Vernin walked out of the crypt as the sun was setting. Light had long since abandoned his brother’s resting place, and in its absence, the darkness that took over the space forced him out. It was a not a choice, on his part. The bitterness of that eviction twisted up his face, but in the evening light, his disdain was easy to ignore.  

The crisp night air greeted him. It struck his face on that first step out. And in its enthusiasm, it seemed to ask him what he was going to do now. What had he decided? Vengeance, it knew. It was what he had come to the castle in pursuit of, it reminded him, but just how would he get it and against whom?

Vernin pulled his coat tighter against his body. He flipped up the collar to better shield his face, but the inquisition never felt that far away. Such questions could only be chased away with answers, but he did not have answers. The certainty and bravado he once had was now left behind with his brother in the crypt. It did not seem like something he could carry out. It weighed too much for him, he thought. It was not something he could pull against, but then again, it was not a weight, he soon realized. It was a tether. He felt the pulling when he wandered a few feet away from the crypt. Vernin turned back to the structure as if he were about to ask it what it was that pulled at him, but he knew what it was. He knew it was Jemes or the intermingling of their souls that beckoned him to return to his brother’s side. One was not meant to walk on the Earth without the other, it seemed to say. And it said as much in Jemes' voice. For he had always been the one to speak its truths, and even in his absence, those truths retained their nature. They were not broken just because the world was more broken than it had been. 

After another moment, Vernin walked away. What choice did he have?

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The Haunted Void taught me that death was not always some grand affair or climactic moment. And that seems like it goes without saying, but I was fairly young when he died. I still had a child’s view of the world. Yes I knew people who had died. My grandparents included, but also, I was so young when they died. Then came my uncle. And that could have been a one off thing. But it was the Haunted Void’s death that really sealed it for me. 

It wasn’t fair. I knew to keep my distance from him, and I tried to. But even from that viewpoint, I knew it wasn’t fair. 

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Vernin was given access to his brother’s quarters. They had not been cleared out yet, the king had said. There was no need to rush through it, the king had also said. And then he rambled on about grief, but Vernin had long since stopped paying attention. Those were just empty words. King Ezin knew nothing of grief, Vernin thought. How could he? Kings know death, but they cannot concern themselves with the related issues. It was just a fact of being that was written into the crown. The sovereign’s mind could not think about suffering; it was too important that he be willing to continue such suffering. Crowns are varnished in blood, are they not?

Vernin shook his head as he lay on the bed his brother had been offered. It was his cynicism talking. And while his observations were not unfounded, they were still not the sort of thing that he should be focused on. It was nice of the king to give him this space. If not, Vernin would have been thrown into the servants’ quarters, which would not have bothered him but would have bothered Jemes. In any event, the privacy was nice. The space to breathe was not. 

Vernin closed his eyes as the rustle of movement filled the room. Quickly, Vernin opened them again. He straightened up and looked around, but there was no one there. No one he could see, that is. Vernin knew the difference. 

Heart pounding, he reached underneath his pillow for the dagger he knew Jemes would have kept there and waited. 

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Tried, I said, and that is not the best choice of words I could have used right then. I know. I said earlier that I knew to stay away from a grown man on the internet who had taken an interest in my terrible writings. And that wasn’t entirely a lie. If he had asked to meet somewhere, I would have definitely known not to do that. But I did comment on his writing. I took notice of him and his notice of me. But he just wanted to talk about my characters, and I was happy to have those conversations. Anything that wasn’t explicitly about me would have been fine. Or so I thought.

But it wasn’t fine, I suppose. Hindsight has offered some great clarity. Even if he  met those characters for himself, those were not conversations we should have been having. For different reasons, I suppose.

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Vernin did not sleep that night. He could not when there was an unknown presence in the room with him. Doubt could have dulled his senses and helped him to rest, but he had none. He knew what he had heard. He knew what it could mean. His hand remained tucked under the pillow clutching his brother’s knife. He had been the one to teach Jemes about such measures, and though Jemes had thought it absurd, he had still paid heed. 

As Vernin laid there, he thought about what that meant. If his brother had been mindful of the measures Vernin had advised him to take to ensure his own safety, then how could he have been killed? Or was he killed? He was not too young to die abruptly. And his body revealed nothing. There was no outward signs of hurt or trauma. And if someone tried to poison him, a taster would have caught it. Unless Jemes chose to eat something himself. Unless he trusted the person who handed him something to eat. Vernin clenched his fist around the knife. Jemes was not as trusting as he appeared. So who would he trust? Who would he trust but a child.

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I didn’t think… Well, I wasn’t thinking, so I guess that was the first problem. But in any event, at the time, I knew vaguely what consequences as a concept were. I knew my actions sometimes had them, but at the same time, I wasn’t really being raised in the traditional sense by my parents. I had to be independent. For my own sake. And I was smart enough to manage on my own, to a great extent. But there were things I couldn’t teach myself. That was one of them. 

I couldn’t have known what would happen. Or that’s what I tell myself. 

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King Ezin extended an invitation to the duke’s brother for breakfast, expecting him to not take it. Vernin wore his animosity on his face. It was always readily apparent, and the king supposed that such was the intention. Certainly then, the man who hated the royal family with such fervor would not stand to be in its presence all that often. 

But there he was, breaking bread with them. And he was not as charming as his brother, that much was obvious, but he was putting on quite the show for them. When he smiled, he looked like his brother which left the king uneasy. But nothing cut him quite as deeply as his daughter’s laughter. She had taken a liking to his jokes and knew not the consequences of it all.

The king snuck a glance towards the queen. Her expression was far more muted than his. He hoped he knew what that meant. 

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Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.