16 – The Bench

Erika’s heart skipped a beat as she stepped fully into the chamber, wondering if she should have looked around for a different exit before jumping straight in front of the god again.

The Final Judge sat slumped on an elevated platform at the far end of a long room. Pews of dark stone stretched from side to side, broken only where the aisle ran up the center. With its vaulted ceiling, hanging candelabras, and stained glass running up and down the walls, the chamber gave off a church-like vibe.

Only a few seats were filled; the people wore clothes more befitting of a funeral than a party or a courtroom, complete with veils and black suits. All of them sat still, facing forward, with the occasional slight trembles being the only sign that they were alive—or whatever counted for alive in this place. Erika glanced around once as she stalked up the aisle, trying to see if she recognized Bob among the crowd, just to check if they were the same people from the dining hall. She had no luck before she refocused on the Final Judge.

Just as in the dining hall, the Judge sat half hanging off to one side of a grandiose throne. Even though it wore the same black robes, the arrangement somehow looked more judicial. Erika wasn’t sure what changed, or if it was just the surroundings. A long rectangular desk, its front stretching from the floor to just over Erika’s, head winged off to either side. A simple symbol of an hourglass sat in the dead center of the desk, carved from the same turquoise as the stone in the ring. A set of scales and a gavel perched on the edge of the desk, placed such that they looked important, but were so far away from the throne that the Judge would have to stretch for them if they were ever used.

Erika figured she had found the titular bench.

She had half a mind to fling her bat before the Judge could speak, break the bench, and hope for the best.

Erika stalled at the end of the rows of pews. A large space partitioned the bench from the onlookers, separated by a small waist-high fence made from lighter marble. The only thing in the empty area was a smaller podium, clearly designed for anyone standing at it to feel inferior to the Judge.

Stepping up to it, Erika placed the reaper’s book on the top of the podium, and stared up at the reaper. Her lips felt dry as Erika grimaced in mere anticipation of hearing that voice again. A tension in her legs wouldn’t go away.

The Final Judge hadn’t stirred since she first peeked into the room.

“Ahem.” Erika cleared her throat.

Bones ground against bones as the reaper’s skull creaked and moved. It swiveled, first aiming up and behind Erika—looking at Madeline, who had not remained out in the hallway—before settling on her.

Fʟᴏʀᴇɴᴄᴇ Eʀɪᴋᴀ Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ sᴄʜᴇᴅᴜʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ Bᴇɴᴄʜ.

Erika flinched backward, fingers digging into the podium. All of a sudden, she regretted going with this plan instead of just charging in to smash everything in sight. She doubted she would have made it far before a single word stopped her cold in the exact same way, but it was what she was good at. Some people ate ice cream as their comfort food; Erika broke shit.

She had not entered unprepared. It took a long moment for her startled mind to remember that, but she had a plan.

A blink broke eye contact with the reaper. Immediately, her panic subsided. Erika felt her heart hammering in her chest, her living heart pounding away. Whatever preservation effect the Final Judge’s voice carried, it only went skin deep. If she were like all the other people here, dead people who were only skin deep, she doubted she would be able to do anything.

Erika drew in a breath as her heart broke down the effect.

The reaper had not gotten distracted with the ghost this time around, yet feeling and movement returned to Erika’s fingers. Breathing came easier with every passing breath. Her lips, still dry, moved into the most forced grin of her life.

“I have a question for you, Judge.” Her words felt slurred, but came easier as she kept speaking, breaking the silence with her voice. “You said you aren’t part of The Mummy. I’ve heard like… fifty different names for it. The One Who Waits, The One Without a Face, The Chains that Bind, the… whatever. Point is: Are you part of something else? Something bigger than you?”

Her question was the primary reason Erika had decided on this route. If the Judge was some aspect that wanted out, like Nya, then maybe it could be an ally or, at the very least, ignored.

Maybe The Fixer had missed some long-form ritual to free The Mummy because it wasn’t conducting one.

If it was part of The Mummy, and happily so, then there was always Plan B.

Break everything.

Erika waited, watching, wondering what it was thinking, if such a being could actually think in a way Erika could comprehend. It made her consider Nya, who seemed so… personable, despite being an ancient alien entity. Then again, Nya had existed with humans for at least a recent portion of her history. She was much like The Fixer in that regard.

Breathing fairly easily, Erika watched like a hawk for the moment the Final Judge’s jaw so much as twitched. She closed her eyes as fast as she could, breaking eye contact again.

Yᴏᴜ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʜᴀs ɴᴏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ, ɴᴏʀ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ.

Erika seized up again, but by the time she forced her eyes open again, she was already feeling more or less normal. Or, at the very least, as normal as she had felt in the reaper’s presence. More importantly, she felt a spark of hope. The Final Judge was engaging with her, not just overruling and carrying on with whatever it wanted.

“Maybe so,” she said as soon as her lips felt like they could form words, “but you figured out what I’m talking about anyway. Are you a piece of it?”

Iɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ.

Erika didn’t blink fast enough that time, stun locking her again until she managed to break eye contact. It took a moment, but she got feeling back in her fingers much faster than before.

She didn’t respond right away, not because of being preserved in place, but out of confusion over the term. “You mean you aren’t right now, but expect to be part of it in the future? Or…”

Rather than answer her, the Final Judge turned its head upward. Following its gaze, Erika found a massive hourglass hanging high over the door she came through. Sands tumbled through like a waterfall, draining away, yet the level of sand in the upper half didn’t seem to decrease over the minute it took before the Final Judge spoke.

Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ sʟᴜᴍʙᴇʀs. Iᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sʟᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ.

Maybe because her head was turned, or maybe because the words weren’t directed at her, but Erika broke from the sudden seizure simply by turning her head to face the Judge again. “Is that hourglass counting down until it wakes up? How long is that? Can you tell?”

Tʜᴇ ʀᴀᴛᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴀs ᴏғ ʟᴀᴛᴇ. Tʜᴇ sᴀɴᴅs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀsᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғᴀʟʟ.

Erika grimaced, wondering if that was her fault for breaking those chains. “Is there a chain—is there something binding that god in this realm?” she asked, shooting a quick look around like one might have jumped out at her.

Nᴏ.

Letting out a short, clipped breath, Erika just about sagged against her podium. When she broke the dining table, she completely forgot where she was. The Monk could have hidden a chain in a plate of mashed potatoes and she never would have noticed. Even though the Judge said no, she was suddenly feeling far more wary about Plan B than she had been a few moments ago.

Of course, she was assuming that the Judge was being honest. If it wasn’t, she had a whole other problem. The Hunters, The Fixer, and Nya could break down any information she learned, which meant, honest or not, she should try to learn as much as she could. As long as the Judge was being all cordial and answering her questions, she saw no reason to stop.

Erika racked her brain for the most useful things to know. Not knowing how long the Judge would stay helpful, she didn’t want to sit around brainstorming forever, but neither did she want to waste time on trivial nonsense.

Turning, looking to the massive hourglass again—and noting that Madeline, while still withered, was not withering—one key question popped into Erika’s mind. “Can that hourglass be reversed? I mean, put The Mummy back to sleep, or whatever.”

The Final Judge, motionless, stared up and over Erika’s head. The longer the silence went on, the more Erika thought she wouldn’t like the eventual answer.

“Why not?” Erika asked, skipping what she felt was the obvious response. “Someone did it before. The Mummy is all chained up, so piling on more chains should be easier this time around.”

Bones ground against bones as the reaper’s skull angled downward, boring into Erika with that eyeless stare. An ominous flutter gripped Erika’s stomach as she realized that she hadn’t actually confirmed whether or not the Final Judge was like Nya… or whether it sought The Mummy’s freedom.

“I mean… like, just asking in case we need to stop—”

Yᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, Fʟᴏʀᴇɴᴄᴇ Eʀɪᴋᴀ Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ.

Erika flinched, feeling that paralyzing preservation grip her in force. Heart hammering away at the effect, Erika ground her teeth as she fought back like it was the first time she had ever experienced it.

Skeletal fingers splayed across the Judge’s bench as it stood, half leaning over the desk to bear down on Erika.

Oᴛʜᴇʀs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ᴀ ʜᴀᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴇʟᴅᴇᴅ. Oᴛʜᴇʀs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ sʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɴᴅɪɴɢs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Aɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛs. Oᴛʜᴇʀs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ʀᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴsᴛʀᴀɪɴᴛs ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ɪᴛsᴇʟғ.

I ᴅɪsᴀɢʀᴇᴇ.

Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴀʀʀᴏᴡ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴs. Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ.

Erika couldn’t move. She could barely think. The Final Judge’s presence alone fought her down. Even her heart, valiantly crashing against the effect, felt weaker and smaller with every passing word. The small pause in the speech gave her a brief instant to claw back some semblance of resistance.

She hissed. No intelligible response made it from her mind to her mouth. She couldn’t even form the words in her head.

The Final Judge laughed.

Wʀᴏɴɢ, ᴀᴍ I?

Three words weren’t as bad as a whole essay, but Erika felt her progress snap back. The Final Judge peered down at her, eyeless stare piercing as if it were looking into her disjointed thoughts and assembling them into something coherent.

Yᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇʀɪᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴛᴀɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ. Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɪᴍʟᴇss ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. Iɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀss, ʀᴇɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴏᴘᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇs ɪʀʀᴇʟᴇᴠᴀɴᴛ.

Tʜᴇ Nᴀᴍᴇʟᴇss Oɴᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴇᴀsᴇᴅ. Oɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴀʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪɴ, ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢʟᴇss. Eᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Aɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴇ ɪɴsᴛᴀɴᴛ, ʟᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴘᴏɴᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ sᴄᴀʟᴇ ᴏғ ALL, ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍᴘʀᴇʜᴇɴsɪʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ.

Erika’s fingernails dragged through the surface of the podium. Flecks of stone broke away under her grip as she ground her teeth, concentrating wholly on just living under the onslaught of the Final Judge’s verdict.

Tʜɪs ɪs ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ. Cʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪs ᴜɴᴅᴇsɪʀᴀʙʟᴇ.

With the sound of a granite slab grinding across a sarcophagus, the Final Judge lowered itself back to its seat.

Erika slumped forward, knees too weak to hold her up. The podium acting as a crutch was the only thing keeping her from sinking to the ground in a limp mess. She breathed, heaving, as the pressure lessened, only to flinch as she heard the Judge speak again.

Yᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴍʏ ʙᴇɴᴄʜ, Fʟᴏʀᴇɴᴄᴇ Eʀɪᴋᴀ Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ. Rᴇᴛᴜʀɴ. Exɪsᴛ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇᴀsᴇ.

Erika said nothing, clamping her jaw together as she breathed heavily through her nostrils alone. Her slight hiss felt like it almost killed her with the way it set the Final Judge off, so she didn’t dare say anything now. She focused all her energy on recovery. A bubble popped in one nostril; her jaw hurt from the force of clenching her teeth together, and she knew just from the feel of her face that her makeup was everywhere.

This was a cognizant aspect. She had fought against unthinking body parts. The idea of motherhood or the function of an overgrown stomach felt like nothing in comparison to a mere word from the Final Judge. The closest she had felt was when the terror bird screeched, sending everyone running in fear, even making some of The Eclipse kill themselves by climbing through the brambles. But even then, she broke out of the stupor with a mere snap of her fingers.

The Final Judge allowed her recovery. It sat there in its throne, half slumped to one side again, when it could easily have stepped up to her and flicked its fingers, decapitating her in an instant.

Slowly, Erika straightened her back. Slowly, Erika put weight on her trembling legs.

Slowly, Erika’s clenched teeth turned to a heavy glower.

A small part of her, that prideful, easily offended part, wanted to fight back. She had broken gods, and the Final Judge couldn’t be that different. She could slam her fists down on the podium, shattering it into a cascade of her power that would propagate out like a bomb until nothing of this realm was left but dust.

Erika took a step back, away from the podium, leaving her plundered book where it was. Her bat, fallen to the side at some point, remained where it was. Erika didn’t try to grab it, taking another step back. Madeline bumped into her—passed through her. Erika grabbed her wrist. Her fingers didn’t find purchase on anything, but the ghost stuck right with her as she turned and fled.

The Final Judge didn’t react, allowing her escape.

Erika reached the door to the courtroom, shoved it open hard enough to shatter the hinges, and stepped out into a familiar hallway that smelled of salt and dried meat. She stumbled over uneven tiles, crashing into the rough stone of the far wall. There were no stained glass windows, no columns, no vaulted ceilings.

The Hall of Memories stretched out before her. Over her shoulder, the door to the Preparation Room gently swung shut. Madeline hung in the air for just a brief moment before vanishing.

Erika breathed in that salty air, finding it refreshing compared to the pressure of the Final Judge. She pressed her face up against the cool stone of the wall as she tried to put herself together. Erika wasn’t sure how long she sat there, just existing. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, then it buzzed again. The energy required to fish it out of her tight pants and look at whatever The Hunters sent didn’t feel important compared to the steadying beating of her heart.

It wasn’t until footsteps echoed down the hall that Erika realized what those messages probably said.

The rotund form of the mortician rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Bradford paused, startled to see someone. Erika didn’t know what she looked like, but knew it wasn’t pretty. He recovered much faster than Erika, shaking his head with a small snort as he came toward her.

Erika tensed, deciding that she really didn’t give a shit if she had to break his legs. After the Final Judge, Erika couldn’t muster up the fucks required to talk her way out.

Though, it didn’t seem necessary. Bradford walked right past her, stepping inside the Preparation Room door, only to emerge again half a moment later.

“The mayor occasionally came to me, looking a lot like you look now,” he said in a conversational tone. He held out a shotglass of amber-colored liquid. “Whiskey helped.”

Glaring at it, and at him, Erika snatched it from his hands, ignoring the worries of poison. Half spilled from her trembling fingers, and the other half dribbled more down her face than it did her throat. What little made it down burned at the back of her mouth.

That burning helped draw in a shocked breath.

“I often wondered what he saw, as his state usually came with a proclamation for our little community…” Bradford took the glass from her fingers, stepping back. When she opened her mouth, he held up a hand. “I often thought I was better off not knowing. In fact, I enjoy what I do, so I’d rather not have you disrupting things with some new ideas about how things should be.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, pushing herself off the wall. Her legs still weren’t completely steady, but her desire to get out of this town spurred her forward. “For the drink.”

“I would say any time, but I think I’d prefer if you lot left and never returned,” he said, smile on his face. Turning, he stepped back to the door and started to push it open, only to pause. “Oh, please don’t touch my bodies again. They are quite precious to me.”

“Don’t have to worry about that,” Erika grumbled under her breath as she dragged herself forward.

Bradford didn’t answer, disappearing into his morgue. Following a few experimental steps, Erika shuffled forward until she reentered the main entryway of the Hall of Memories.

Anna caught sight of her first. “Did you get caught? I tried to warn—” She stopped, taking in Erika’s appearance. “What happened to you?”

Erika just shook her head. “I’ve got the ring. Let’s get out of here.”

“But—”

“I’m not telling the story more than once.” Erika coughed, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the whiskey or the Final Judge’s presence. “Let’s find The Fixer and get out of here. I’m taking a nap the entire way back.”