Whence you Die
an Oracle to bind you to this world tight
your Name, your anchor, speak the words
spurn the Spirits, ignore their light
find your Priest, walk through the door
Helen was dead for over a minute before she realized what had happened. This is what happens most of the time. If ever you spring up from a near-deadly scrape feeling rejuvenated and unharmed, check your hands for a silvery pallor, and check the surrounding area for your corpse. Perhaps Hellen should have been more aware and realized her death, tie was precious after all.
Perhaps she should have realized what had happened to her. Her lack of observation certainly wasted precious time. But, soon, she caught the sight of her own marred corpse. If she still had a heart, it would have stopped beating. For a second, the only sound was that of a small stream s Hellen looked at the body lying sprawled in the dirt.
An Oracle to bind you to this world tight
But she didn’t pause for long. She remembered the steps she needed to follow and had been told of the dire consequences if she didn’t. She already thought she could see a few ghostly figures looming behind the trees. Quickly, she rifled through her pockets. She soon found her Oracle. Hellen let out her breath. There had been times before when she had forgotten to take it with her. Should not have been more thankful that she had remembered to take it with her that day.
Hellen’s Oracle was a miniature knife, no longer than her smallest finger. Her mother had given it to her when she was quite young, and Hellen had carried it since. Now, it could help lead her home. She spun the knife around in her fingers a few times. Hellen had never thought that she would need to use her Oracle. But, everyone dies eventually, and being prepared to wield one Oracle is an inevitability. Unpreparedness must be scorned.
Hellen looked around her and realized that she couldn’t recognize anything. She had spent many years playing in this forest, climbing every tree, splashing through every stream. Her hold on reality was slipping. When this happens to you just remember your Oracle and grip it tightly. This knowledge, even in those days, was common. And so Helen gripped the knife’s hilt tightly and held it aloft. From the knife’s tip stretched a silver thread winding through the trees.
Your Name, your anchor, speak the words
Hellen followed the path and held the knife tight. Every five paces she repeated her name to herself, Hellen. Her world was slowly going achromatic, but every time she spoke her name there was a surge of color. She could feel her hold over reality loosening, but slowly. Good preparedness and heeding the song help ease the descent. Remember that your path has been laid out before you. Everyone who came before you has walked the path before, and your Oracle binds you to them and the earth. Unerringly, it shows the path.
Hellen… Hellen…. Hellen… Her name was a resounding refrain as she walked. She made sure to speak it even through dry lips and a parched tongue. How could her tongue be parched? The secrets of death are not ours to know, she did not seek the answer. She focused only on what was ahead. And all the while, Hellen… Hellen…. Hellen…
Spurn the spirits, ignore their light
Hellen followed the silvery thread emanating from the knifepoint, all the while chanting her name. She felt as though she should have reached her village, that her trek was taking quite a long time. But, one’s senses of time, space, and memory are distorted after death. It would do well to remember that.
Even so, Hellen’s panic continued to increase. She could see greater numbers of the ghostly-pale figures skulking behind trees and underneath boulders. Although, there were starting to come out from behind their cover. The spirits were growing bolder. Visceral fear took hold of Hellen. Perhaps this was unneeded. The lost spirits can do little to you unless you let them. Still, watching ghostly hands emerge from the darkness, however dangerous, frightened easily. Hellen shrieked.
The lost spirits began to crown around her. They shone with ghostly light. After stopping for just a moment Hellen pressed on. She shivered at the thought of their sickly cold fingers brushing against her. But, her actions were the right ones. Had she turned towards the ghosts and rais her hand against them, or else turned from the path and fled, they would have pounced. As it was, Hellen had remembered her poem, had stayed on the path.
What was left was to continue onwards, ignoring the spirits, and their pulsing lights. Strange piercing wails stung her ears. Eyes forward she stuck to the path. Follow her example.
find your Priest, walk through the door
Hellen’s ghostly body pulsed with dim light. Her movements were slow and sluggish and every step took great effort. The miniature knife shook slightly in her hands. Each chorus of her name, Hellen… … Hellen… …, was softer and further apart. Still, she pushed on, trudging her way into town. The lost spirits were fewer, but Hellen could not. There was not the energy left to focus on them, to let the scare her, or to heed their words. All she could do was press onwards. Always press onwards. The point at which the path is hardest is when the destination nears your sight.
Hellen made her way through her little village. She did not see the houses, the shopfronts, or the people. Hellen saw the knife point, the path, and the church. She was almost there. The edges of her mouth quirked upwards in her best approximation of a smile. She was almost there. At last, crossed the threshold of the church.
Almost immediately the priest saw her. His expression was solemn and a few tears fell. But, he had done this so many times before, guided so many souls to the world beyond. The priest is gentle and kind. When, someday, this happens to you, do not worry.
The priest led Hellen to the back of the church. There was a door that Hellen had never seen open. You will only walk through it one time. Tired, and desiring rest, they stepped through the threshold, into the swirling brilliance. There, she found her peace.
