Enlightened Empire

To help them on their way, the bodies of dead Pacha faithful would be covered in a wet cloth and barred up in enclosed rooms. It was only during this time that ordinary people could still communicate with them. At least that was what the Pacha priests said. So long as the deceased were still on their way through the underworld, it was possible to establish a connection. Family members would sound gongs for them to hear, so they could find their way back for a short chat. Richer bereaved would also wear silver to create a glitter for their dead relatives to see from distance. Once their bodies had decomposed and only bones were left, they had made their way through the underworld and reached the afterlife among the stars.

Eons later, their souls would be cleansed of their impurities and descend back to earth in the form of life-giving rain; the life which had been lost to death would return to the earth. The priests would carry around large jars to catch these rains and use them in their rituals. Consequently, the harshest punishment known in Medala was the salting, where criminals would be buried alive in salt, their bodies preserved to never decompose and their spirits cursed to never find peace.

Before he went to meet his dead father, the head priest purified Corco one final time with the rain water from his back. Then the prince had to go ahead by himself. Conversations with the dead were always a private affair. Not even the priests coult listen in.

"That’s right, the grand seer also said my father was struggling on his journey," Corco said to the head priest with a look over his shoulder.

"I will pray to the stars for the emperor’s safe passage."

"I appreciate that. And I#m sure my father will as well."

The old priest just smiled again as he saw the prince off.

In preparation for his visit, Corco had taken an oil lamp from the priest in his right hand and the bamboo tube of celestial water in his injured left. With gravitas, he used his good shoulder to push open the stone slabs over the entrance. They were inscribed with all manner of symbols, but he could not read their purpose in the flicker of the lamp. After Corco had passed the gate, the Pachayawna pulled it closed from the outside, a surprising show of strength. During their exchange, the relatives should never disturbed.

Corco stepped into the dark, musty room and looked down at the dim lamp. In fact, he was convinced that those ’evil spirits’ who kept claiming people in the royal tomb were carbon monoxide, with how many lamps the old priest had lit on their way. Still, the old tomb was an impressive construction to even allow breathable air this far down, and without getting flooded by the basin of water above.

Even after he focused his eyes into the distance, he made out only contours. Thus, he placed the oil lamp in a socket by the door. The polished bronze mirror behind the socket spread the lamp’s light to illuminate the mortuary. The emperor’s place of rest was a damp, round room with few decorations, spartan for a ruler’s grave. Maybe because the Yaku believed that their journey through the underworld was spiritual, they would not think of bringing anything with them.

The only objects in the room were the stone altars in the center, five in total, ornate with the symbols of the Pacha priests, and a few smaller objects of worship in front of them to facilitate conversation. Finally, on top of the central altar lay the corpse of Medala’s emperor, Titu Caelestis Pluritac, wrapped up in a luxurious blue shroud emblazoned with the family insignia.

A feeling of incongruity overcame Corco, as if something was not quite as it should. Indeed, he had stepped into a different world. With great decorum, the prince marched until he reached six steps away from the grave. He kneeled on one of the prayer mats which had been prepared there. After he had taken the small mallet in his front, he closed his eyes and started to hit a matching gong with great sincerity, for it would guide the spirit of the dead back to the land of the living.

After several minutes of meditation, Corco opened his eyes, put down the mallet and began to talk:

"Hey Dad. I’m late. I really couldn’t make it any sooner. I tried to..." he paused for a while, his head lowered. Then he realized what he was doing. Whether his father could hear him or not, there was no point lying to a dead man. He corrected his posture as he corrected himself.

"No, that’s bullshit. Listen dad, here’s the truth. I hated you. I really did, for a long time. You didn’t protect your wife when you should have. You didn’t protect me, your own flesh and blood. Your heir! Always distant and always cold. You sent me away overseas, to some foreign, unknown place on some... flimsy excuse. Everyone knew it was one as well. And I was convinced that it was your way of getting rid of the nuisance. The weak one. The gloomy one. The choleric one. You shouldn’t have been surprised at that, really.

"Things didn’t go so well in Arcavia, you know? Go to some royal university to learn more about the ways of the foreigners? A letter of introduction to guarantee my admission? Rejected at the door step. ’No entry for nonbelievers’ they said. The letter was probably fake as well. All those servants you sent with me? Disappeared at the first sign of trouble. Well, Fadelio stuck around at least. And Atau, but they don’t count. Nothing went well. As if the whole world had conspired against me. But then, do you know what happened? A miracle! And I was saved. And I saw what could be done. What I could do. I cut my hair and powdered my skin to look like everyone else, and I started to succeed where I had failed before. Started to create something. To take back what I should have never lost in the first place. So I could come back and show you how wrong you were to throw us away.

"Though... after years of doing that... I get it now. Being responsible for others, weighed down like that, it’s tough. Every day. And now that I’m back in the palace... I can see it, the crap you were up against to preserve the peace, preserve your legacy. At least somewhat, you probably wanted to protect me when you sent me off. I get that, at least... intellectually. People always say a son should love his father. I still don’t know if I can do that. After what happened, after I gained all those memories, I don’t even know if I’m your son anymore; or some foreign traveler from a different world; or both; or neither." Corco took a deep breath to calm himself before he continued.

"I still catch myself blaming you for every little thing that goes wrong in my life, but at least I can respect you now. For all the things you tried to do and all the sacrifices you made for me, for mom and for your people. Which is why I can tell you now," Corco raised his body as he raised his voice.

"I will protect your legacy, but not for you. I will do it for our people. and for myself. I will make sure to take the throne. To defend it from those who only see gold and power. And I will offer up myself and everything I hold dear to unite north and south, to create a paradise, a nation where no one has to starve or freeze. Where everyone is equal, truly equal. Where greatness awaits those capable of greatness, independent of their birth! The greatest, freest, richest, most powerful, most artistic, most learned, most spiritual country in the world!"

After he had said it out loud, Corco caught his pathos and felt silly for screaming into an empty room. Even so, he continued in a lowered voice, just in case.

"I might not be back after this. So for now, I will say goodbye until we meet on the other side. Let the celestial water guide you to the stars."

Thus, Corco was ready to finish his visit. He opened the bamboo and drickled the water over the emperor’s bones.

Below him the shroud sank down from the weight of the water, to contour his dead father’s skull. It made him aware that one day, he would lie there just the same. However, before he could reflect on his ambitions or their worth, he noticed something strange. For a few seconds he stared at the wet cloth, before he went back to the entrance and brought his lamp for better lighting. Something was off. Something was not right. As soon as his mind grasped at the notion, it caught onto something else.

That strangeness he had felt ever since he entered the mortuary. He had not in fact been overwhelmed by the mystic atmosphere. His brain had been missing something from the room, but his mind hadn’t noticed. Now he understood: The room smelled of nothing, there was no stench from the rotting corpse! Even if most of the emperor’s flesh would be decomposed after six months, there was no way for the smell to escape from a sealed room! Determined to find the truth, Corco grabbed the shroud, ripped it off and was confronted with a sight of horror.

There lay the last emperor of Medala, first of the Yaku people, encased entirely in wax! Something inside Corco snapped. He drew his hidden dagger and chipped off some of his father’s waxen prison. Exposed beneath was dry, leathery skin.

*Salted. Mummified. Preserved for all eternity!*

He couldn’t even remember what happened next. By the time he regained his senses, prime minister Chaupic stared up at him in terror, pressed into the wall with Corco’s injured hand. The only reason the politician was still alive was the Pachayawna, who held onto Corco’s good arm with all his strength and revented the dagger’s plunge straight into the helpless minister’s neck.

"Young Prince. You are bleeding. It is time to stop."

Corco looked from the futile and desperate struggles of Chaupic onto his left arm. Some of his stitches had come undone, as he could see a wet spot form on his shoulder. Even so, Corco ignored the wound and still held on. A little blood was no reason to stop now.

"Young faithful! This is no place for violence!" the old priest said. "The spirits will awaken!"

As Corco gulped in the thick underground air, clouds spun in front of his eyes. He took a slow, shallow breath to calm his pulse and followed the old priest’s grip, away from the object of his rage. However, he never took his eyes off the politician.

"Before you call for peace you should look inside first, priest. Look at what they did to my father! Then tell me again that it’s ’no place for violence’."

The Pachayawna seemed confident enough that Corco had himself under control again, since he entered the mortuary without another word. Meanwhile, the old prime minister couldn’t even struggle to his feet before Corco twisted the man’s arm behind his back and pushed him after the priest, through the opened gate. At the sight of the emperor’s corpse, the prince could feel Chaupic’s body stiffen in his grasp.

"What is this? What happened?" the minister’s voice was shrill, but Corco still tightened his grip.

"To me, it looks like the body was dried out, mummified and then encased in wax to preserve it. What the fuck do you think happened here, huh!? You hypocrite piece of shit!?"

"Eternal damnation." Even the always serene Pachayawna was petrified as he mumbled to himself.

"Now then, old man. I’ve looked past your bullshit so far because I’m nice like that, but one more lie out of your mouth and I’ll drill you a more honest one closer to your lungs. You understand?"

Unlike before, Chaupic’s body deflated. For once, the old man looked his age.

"Whatever Prince Corco desires."

"So who the fuck did this?"

"I truly do not know. It is my first time in the tomb since the emperor’s funeral."

Unsatisfied at the minister’s response, Corco’s head shot over to the next suspect.

"Hey, priest! Speak, how could this happen?"

"I... I never looked under the cloth. I only ever saw the emperor shrouded. I did not know."

The old priest stared at Corco with wide eyes. His wise and serene mask had fallen off long ago.

"So then who did the shrouding? I need names. Now!"

"I will support Prince’s efforts as best I can," the priest replied with a deep bow of deference.

"And you, politician!"

Corco shoved Chaupic into the damp wall of the mortuary. Only then did the old minister manage to stop himself and turn around.

"You’ll give me a list of all the people who’ve visited my father after his isolation. Everyone. And don’t tell me you don’t know. You were one of father’s closest servants. There’s no way you were not let inside to see him."

"I will. Whatever is needed."

Even as he answered the prince, Chaupic’s trembling eyes had not once left the mummified corpse.

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