Taking the path of remembrance up to the Rose Garden, Puck meandered on in melancholy. The breeze blew its weedy breath ever stronger, and he drew his collar up around his neck.
Puck admonished himself endlessly for all that had gone wrong in Marley's abbreviated life.
It occurred to him also, that now Forsythe was undone, the worry of his unpredictable interference was gone, and he and Marley could have lived happily together. Things might have been otherwise. A part of him craved to live a human existence - if only for a short period of life.
His wandering drew him towards a path that was cluttered with older headstones leaning one up against another. Empty vases and rusty picture frames were scattered around their bases - the stones had pitted with the weather. It was most likely their loved ones had joined them in the plot.
Higher on the hill he was now climbing, he saw a woman and a man sitting on a concrete seat, looking down at the gatherings below. They seemed comfortable with each other, and from their close proximity it was obvious that they were a couple. Puck decided to turn and go back down, for he did not want to intrude on the romantics.
Several steps later he heard the voices of the two as they talked. He could not hear them well, for the wind carried their words to the south, however he realized all at once that the male's voice was well known to him. It was Brogan.
Of course! he thought, Brogan would want to be here for Marley! He must go and invite him down - there would be much to talk of - news of where he had been, and of what befell Mark Forsythe in recent days.
He walked urgently up the track, cheered to see his friend again. The woman lifted her head from his chest. Brogan's arms had been clamped around her, as she had kissed him with a delicate passion. Neither perceived Puck to be there beside them - he could not have been more invisible if he tried.
Upon getting closer he discovered that Brogan's companion was Marley. His Marley with his Brogan.
Plain to see, the two were very much in love - their auras were blending together. Their souls were serene – and radiant too.
It was now clear to Puck how he had lost his connection with her, during this time just passed - and that Marley had made, or regained, her affinity with Brogan once again.
The funeral had brought her here to this place after all. How could he be sad, when he found her now so truly content at last?
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
It was windy, the day of Marley's funeral - impossibly, tossedly, windy. The kind of wind that makes you feel insignificant amongst its unpredictably, invisibly, whirling dance.
The sun was hidden from behind a bulbous cloud, yet the air was warm, with the fragrance of freshly cut lawn expiring all around. The garden cemetery was well kept and not far from their property in Basingstoke. London had long run out of vacant plots, and was too noisy for Puck’s liking, regardless. The countryside was more faithful to her memory, he had decided.
Invitations had been emailed to everyone Marley had known. There were many faces Puck did not recognize - co-workers in the perfume industry and others who were involved with the charities that Marley had loved the best.
Her brothers and sisters, along with the menacing uncle, had arrived early, taking the front row. They all stood to inherit handsomely.
Puck wore a dove grey suit and had cropped his hair short for that morning. He had dressed Charlene in her favorite clothes: blue jeans, pink top and sparkly trainers. He held her protectively as they stood staring into the hole dug for the coffin to descend into. There had been rain overnight and a puddle of water had collected in the bottom.
Marley was still nowhere to be seen. This was in itself quite peculiar, as the spirits of the deceased almost always come to watch on at their own funeral parties. Her absence was tearing at Puck's heart - he could not understand how once again she might deny him. He had no knowledge of how Marley was doing, and had lost any sense of where she might be. These puzzles were becoming very difficult for him to comprehend.
He gave Charley over to Goober, deciding that a short walk before the ceremony was better for reflection - he wanted to feel close to her, and needed some moments alone.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Are you staying for the celebratory refreshments?" asked the porter who had first shown them all in and had now come to pick up the recording. The three thanked him, but decided to leave.
"I cannot believe it’s finally all over" said Goober in wonderment at what he had just seen. "I thought for sure he was to be thrown into a flaming pit or something. Still, it shall be agony enough for him I think?"
"Life will go well for him," said Puck grimly, "He can yet derive happiness - and who knows, when the frustration has ceased its nagging and he invests himself in goodness, he may feel the merits of it accordingly."
"Puck, one thing I don't get ... why couldn't we have just cut to the end bit and the court saved the whole twelve days. We could have weighed the heart from the beginning, couldn't we?"
"Repentance makes the heart much lighter. If he had only had the will to change his ways and feel sorriness for all he did wrong, it would have saved him - he could have kept his power."
Puck said this while watching the little dog lick the blood from his whiskers - seeing that the heart had now gone from the plate.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Master Yang, will you please join us?” Maat requested.
The huge ape had been reclining near by. He lumbered over to where Forsythe was standing, and put his big hand to his neck commandingly. Forsythe did not resist.
"There is a sheath about you now, which cannot be removed. No demi-god or demon-magi can loose it from your inner skin. This enchantment upon you, from this day on, is one of ineffectiveness.
“Its purpose is to curtail all that you would do. Wherever you are in the cosmos, on any plane or sphere, your ability herewith will be the least, and all actions of yours will be ineffective, unless to the goodwill of others.
“You have been stripped of any creativity. No new design may be conjured by you, forthwith.
“You are free to travel the universe and assist souls who ask you of their help. To begin with, there is a vacancy for a ferryman going locally - you may convey passengers into this court. That will be all. Yang will escort you to your new employ."
No sooner said, then they were gone. Varnished, banished and vanished.
Then came the applause. Puck had finished his scribing and rolled it up neatly fixing his seal before filing the parchment away into a golden tube.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Nervina noticed that Forsythe was ageing as they spoke and taking on the appearance of a man who was wrinkled. He hoped that this was not happening to all of them sitting in the hall for so long.
Forsythe spoke further, saying, "Catastrophe unites the lower classes, disasters bring people together, famine redistributes the wealth to those who might better manage it ... some humans are destined to be used, and some are so equipped that they might guide and control them. I am proud of my accomplishments and make ownership of all that I have instigated. Yes, I would do it over again. I work for freedom, and the right for the strong to determine fate and dominate."
Maat said to this, "Then so shall it be."
Of course, Forsythe’s power could not match the Court's, yet by his choosing this, they had all decided.
She then took the black feather and dropped it gently onto the disk at the right. The Court watched on. Looking at the two silver plates - one with the heart and the other with the feather - they just sat there, neither moving up nor down. Nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Had the feather weighed heavier than the sad little heart it might have gone well for him. But it did not - neither moved and that was then very much conclusive.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Do not step any closer,” Maat thundered.
It was now apparent that the voice at the beginning of the inquest had been that of her own - and she did not need a loud speaker for it to be heard thunderingly.
Forsythe's manhood shrank and his shoulders slumped. He stayed fixed on the spot...
"We have but one question left to put to you" she continued.
"Thank goodness for that" thought Goober, after eleven days his enthusiasm had dulled.
"Think carefully before answering this final point:
"If you could have the chance to go back now and change all that you have done that did cause harm, would you so choose?"
It is hard to say if Forsythe thought this to be a trick question, where he would have to redress his sins for all eternity and be sentenced to some indefinite term of terrible work, or if arrogance just got the better of him - but he replied:
"No indeed, I would not."
The Goddess of Truth was easy to listen to - there could never be a misunderstanding as to what was meant by her.
She went on: "In conclusion therefore little Demon - I can give you the gift of Empathy, a true treasure that will open your soul. It is the seventh sense of nature and it does define oneself through the eyes of others. Will you now take this attribute I offer you?"
"No" he said adamantly, "I will not."
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Demon beings are incapable of empathy and because they have not the reforms of Hell to periodically show them firsthand what it is to suffer, and their pleasure of causing pernicious mischief is unhindered from guilt or remorse. They feel free to straddle the world as though it was theirs to lay, and are deaf and blind internally to the pains of anyone other than themselves.
Marc-Marsden-Forsythe had been the cause of anguish for many a soul over centuries, and had used a great number names besides - having taken a body here and a body there, to suit his purpose. His ambitions were wide and grandiose. His vanity was strong.
And now that the Committee had a piece of him, he was no longer free to do as he would want. He had come to the end of the forty-two assessors, and was cowering before the Goddess of Truth - Maat. She kept her gaze steadily upon him.
"Come out from yourself" she said sternly.
Within a very long minute or so his form grew high, meeting the size of her own. His body fleshed wider, and became fur covered; his clothing broke off, revealing that his virility had quickened and stood out; and from his head sprang giant antlers that expired a thin red smoke from their tips.
He had become so fearsome to look upon that half of what was left of the hall's occupants audibly gasped.
Maat's gown of stars faded to black and taking her hand up to her head she drew down a jet-black feather and her hair fell loose, tumbling down to the ground.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
