Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (24 page)

As she finished, Maud put her head down.

Fascinated, Silas asked, “But they were not destroyed in any way?”

“No.”

“They were asked to leave.”

“Yes.”

“And they left.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all I am going to be asked to do? To say they’re in the wrong and ask the dead to leave? I sort of do that all the time. Why all the fuss?”

“Well, as I said, the rite is always changing, bit by bit, and it has been over a thousand years since it was performed in the way of the story.”

“But that’s basically it, right?”

“Silas, if you will but wait until—”

“There he is!” said Jonas, entering the library. “I have been looking for you, Silas.” Jonas seemed relieved to have entered when he did. He put himself between Silas and Maud and continued where she had stopped. “If I have heard you correctly, you are asking about the Door Doom and its development, no? The particulars of the rite
are
important, Silas. But it’s the intention of the Janus that drives all. And, of course, certain words do hold considerable power. When the moment comes, I will tell you those words, you shall speak them with intention, and the work shall be done! But now, let us go to the hall and begin.”

Silas hesitated, but Jonas spoke quickly. “I think the best way to answer all your questions is just to get to work. There is no teacher like experience, eh?”

“Right,” answered Silas with a mix of excitement and trepidation in his voice. His stomach was a jumbled bag of anxieties, but he added, solemnly, “I am ready.”

Maud, Jonas, and Silas made their way into the great hall.

“It is law that the Doom must be presided over by a living Janus, though in times of need, the family may do what is necessary to assist the rite. Until you came to Arvale, Silas, many spirits have been held awaiting judgment. Some of the deepest vaults are bursting. Now that you’ve taken the waters, we may at last properly enact the Doom again, and those souls may be settled, banished, dissolved, made to take the Waters of Lethe or subjected to the rites of dissolution.
Cedo nulli
shall be our watchword if any spirit proves difficult; then and only then will those words be spoken. The phrase is very old and carries a terrible power. If all goes well, it should be unnecessary. It must be used only when the dead refuse to comply. This is important, Silas. Are you listening?”

Silas nodded and repeated the phrase, “
Cedo nulli
.”

In the instant when those words were spoken by the Janus, they hung upon the air, and the very fabric of the house trembled as if it might itself dissolve. Jonas looked about nervously for a moment, then said, “It simply denies the ghost its place in the world, erases it, if you like. These words you say after pronouncing judgment if there is too much delay, or should
anything
go wrong, or should you feel threatened at any time. You speak these mighty words upon the dead and we’ll sort out the rest after. Do you understand?

“I think so. What do the words mean?”

“It’s an awkward translation. . . .”

“Do not coddle the boy, Jonas,” said Maud.

Jonas nodded. “It means, roughly,
not being
. At the end of the Door Doom, particularly if the ghost refuses the Waters of Lethe, you will say these words. You must, Silas, for while the door is open during the Doom, we stand in some peril. But don’t worry, we shall proceed slowly. We’ll let this first be a practice.”

“A practice?”

“Yes. We shall not even convene the judge’s council. Just the three of us. Very cozy. We’ll keep it simple. We three shall, with your permission, Silas, make a quorum. It used to be three, long ago, in any event. So if you prefer, a triumvirate. Once, the spirits of three ancient kings stood in judgment over the dead: Rhadamanthys, Aiakos, and Minos. Three judges of the dead, and behind them, Hades held the final word. Now, the Janus stands in the place of the king of dead, but who knows . . . who knows what may come now that you are with us?”

Maud looked hard at Jonas.

Silas was confused. From what he’d heard and read, it was the living that had to deal with the dead when they became a problem. This much was familiar to him. But ghosts—
ghosts
—were advising him on the fate of other ghosts! Had Jonas become so numb to his own condition that he could not see the awful irony of this? Perhaps Jonas was so entrenched in the work of his life that it was habitual, continuing in death. Silas realized that just because a ghost seemed aware, that didn’t mean he wasn’t also hindered in ways that might be difficult for him to see or understand. If the whole house was indeed a sort of prison, albeit a much larger version of the shadowlands he’d seen—an idea Silas was entertaining more and more the longer he remained—what was Jonas
in
for?

Oblivious to the concern on Silas’s face, Jonas continued.

“Yes. Three is always best, so tonight, just us three. I know as Undertaker, you have for the most part done what we shall do tonight. It’s the approach and your attitude now that are crucial, Silas. We shall follow the hallowed rite verbatim. No elaboration, all right? I have to tell you, once you start, we shall not be able to stop. We must finish once it’s begun, for the safety of all.”

“Stop frightening him, Jonas,” said Maud.

“Okay. I understand,” said Silas, putting his slightly shaking hands into his pockets.

Perhaps to distract him, Maud pointed out to Silas the covered chair he had previously asked about, and removed its dust cloth. Next to it, a table held a scepter, and a large tin goblet filled with water.

“This chair is a rather old thing, though rest assured, it is as solid as the foundations of the earth. This is the seat of the Lord of the Dead. In the world outside these walls, it has been lost for some time, but such objects cast long shadows. It appears here in Arvale because it was once kept by the Umbers long ago, so it is part of our ancestral holdings. Once, in ages past, several of our ancestors held the Ebony Throne themselves. What do you make of it?”

Silas walked back and forth before the dark wooden chair. The longer he looked, the more details stood out. There were carved heads of dogs at the ends of both armrests and a third hound’s head that crested the top. The long, turned necks and heads of birds, perhaps swans, decorated the back. Looking at the table, his eye was caught by the scepter, and without thinking, Silas reached for it.

“Wait,” Jonas said. “It is too much.”

“There is no harm in letting the boy hold it,” snapped Maud. “While he is here he can do with any of these things as he wishes. You do not rule here, Jonas. Time to let him enjoy discovering who and what he is!”

“I am only interested in protecting him. Why do you press the matter so?”

But Maud ignored him. She was looking at Silas, who had picked up the scepter and was turning it over in his hands.

Silas could barely hear what the other two were saying. The black stone was ice cold, and electric to the touch. He felt his skin tighten and all the hairs on his arms stand up. He closed his eyes and, for an instant, he saw himself sitting on a throne, holding the scepter, and before him, a throng was singing a hymn in whose crescendo Silas thought he could discern the names of all the dead of the earth.

“Can I keep this?” Silas asked, not looking up.

“For a time if you like,” said Jonas with resignation. “Everything in this house is yours, in one way or another.”

Maud smiled.

“What does it do?” asked Silas.

Jonas looked down. “It enforces the dead to be complacent.”

“Is that all?”

“No.”

Silas held the scepter up closer to his eyes. Its surface was smooth and impenetrable. He could not look away.

“Yes, you can feel it, can’t you? Like you, Silas, I was an Undertaker in life, eager for power and authority, but death can bring such perspective. From where I now stand, I can see that while some may reach very high for attainment and position, sometimes it is in doing merely what needs to be done that we achieve true honor. On this, if nothing else, I believe your father and I would have agreed.”

Jonas gently guided Silas’s hands down, never touching the scepter, as Silas released it.

“Tonight,
we
shall do what needs to be done. There is some unfinished business and it is important for you to see how essential it is to conclude matters, thoroughly, in the accustomed way. Shall we begin?”

Silas turned away from the scepter and the Ebony Throne and walked to the doors. Maud stood to his left, Jonas his right.

“Silas, now you shall open the threshold. It is traditional for you to say, ‘I, Janus of the threshold, open wide the door!’ ”

Without hesitating, Silas repeated the words. “I, Janus of the threshold, open wide the door.”

“Good. Now, you can go to the doors and open—”

But already, Silas was feeling different, like something a little less and lot more than himself. The light in his eyes had begun to change. He felt empowered, anticipation surging through him. His back straightened. He raised both his hands, clasped them briefly together, then quickly cast them apart. With a thunderous crash, the doors of Arvale threw themselves open. The doorway no longer looked out over the front of the estate. It was not the cobalt of night or the sable of cast shadow. The doorway now framed an impenetrable blackness kept over from the time before the stars were made.

“Fine,” said Jonas quickly. “That’s fine. Now call the name of Joseph Downing.”

Silas nodded, but then paused. He knew that name.

“Silas, you cannot stop. This is important. Though others wait to be called, this name must be summoned for you to see the road you must take now, else you shall continue on in error. The way lies open and the house is in peril. Call the name. It’s all right. But do it now.”

Before he could think again, caught up in the propulsion of the ritual and the power he held, Silas called out, “Joseph Downing, stand before the door!”

Out of the murky darkness beyond the threshold, drawn by the force of his name being called by the Janus, the ghost of the lighthouse keeper, Joseph Downing, came to stand upon the Limbus Stone before the doors of Arvale. He looked confused and nearly blind, squinting toward the hall. He was soaked with seawater that dripped from his body onto the dark stone beneath him.

“Now say to the ghost: ‘You stand guilty of wandering and of malfeasance against the living. I sentence you to your rest. Joseph Downing, will you take the waters I offer you?’ ”

“But as Undertaker, I already—?”

“The waters of Lethe were never administered. The ghost remained. Trapped beneath the sea. That is no proper end. Now is not the time for sentimental questions. He stands here because you were unable to effectively perform your obligations back in Lichport. Go on!”

“All right!” Silas snapped back, unsure what else to do but continue. “Joseph Downing, will you take these waters I offer you now? Will you go to your rest and wander no more?”

But the ghost looked lost. He stared up at the lintel on the door, his eyes pale as quartz. The ghost shook, then threw his head to one side, over and over, as though hitting it against a wall that wasn’t there.

“Joseph Downing?” Silas entreated the ghost now. “Joseph Downing? Will you take the waters of Lethe? Will you forget and sink down?” Silas fumbled with his satchel, trying to find the flask of Lethe waters he’d refilled in the catacombs, but Jonas pointed to the tin goblet already on the table and nodded.

The ghost seemed to be entirely unaware of where he was, or what was being asked of him. “No more water. No more water. Where . . . where is my son?” the ghost stammered. “Where is Daniel?” the ghost continued absently. He was falling back into his old confusion. He began to weep.

Silas looked pained, watching the ghost in its pitiful state. Jonas said, “Say the words, Silas. End his suffering. Do not fall into the trap of sentimentality that is this family’s plague. Say the words, now, and let it be done! Have pity on this spirit and do for him what he cannot do for himself.”

Silas could feel the pressure on him to act—the terror on the ghost’s face, Jonas’s words, Maud’s expectant stare, the weight of it all, as though the entire mansion of Arvale had just been set down upon his shoulders. The stress awoke something very old in his blood. Sensing the pressure on Silas, Jonas began speaking the words of the ritual into Silas’s ear, but a moment later, he stopped. Silas was saying them by himself, as though he’d known them all along, as though he had presided over the Door Doom a hundred times before. Silas’s voice rose and the doors of Arvale began to shake. Silas raised his hand, pointing at the ghost.

“Now I speak my judgment against this ghost, Joseph Downing, against the walking one. Here and now, he shall depart, shall be as if he never was, and shall never again trouble the living or the dead!”

Joseph Downing hung speechless above the threshold. Below his feet, the surface of the Limbus Stone grew bright and transparent, but he still remained, arms moving up and down while his hands opened and closed desperately as if clawing to keep hold of the air.