The Binding Vow of Lazarus

Chapter 5

Satoru stayed in the shadows, eyes wide as they flickered from figure to figure. Inside six people moved around the stone ritual table. Their faces were concealed under hoods, the black fabric of their robes swallowing the light and rendering them more like phantoms than men. Their movements were slow and deliberate, as if each step, each gesture, was guided by an unseen force. They stepped back from the altar, leaving behind nothing but the pale remnants of the departed — ashes strewn in a neat pile, an eerie mound on the cold stone.

One of them, taller than the rest, stepped forward, something clutched in his gloved hands. Satoru squinted. He could barely make out the object in the flickering candlelight, but as the figure moved closer to a low basin at the side of the room, it became clear.

Bones.

Not many, just a few — the fragile remnants of what once were the feet of the deceased. Darkened and brittle, the bones seemed to glow under the candlelight as if possessing a ghostly light of their own. The tall figure lowered them carefully into the basin filled with clear water, the liquid sloshing softly as the bones were submerged.

Satoru held his breath. He could hear the faint sound of water running over the bones, the soft splash of liquid against stone, as the hooded figure delicately washed them. The act was reverent, almost tender, as if the bones were sacred relics and too fragile for the touch of the living. Another figure stepped forward holding a length of white cloth so fine it looked like spun moonlight. The bones, now cleaned, were lifted from the basin and placed gently onto the cloth and laid out with care.

The room seemed to grow colder as they worked, the air heavy with an unspoken tension.

Once the bones were arranged the group shifted again, moving silently toward the ashes on the table. Each one took a turn, carefully collecting handfuls of the gray dust and placing them into small, polished wooden urns. There were no words spoken, no chants or invocations — only the quiet sound of ashes falling into wood, soft as a whisper, delicate as snow.

Satoru clenched his jaw. He didn’t understand the ritual, nor its purpose, but more than anything he wanted to know where Sarah was in all this. This was some sort of ceremony for the dead, a final passage of bones and ashes clearly. But where was she? All of the robes figures were likely adults and she would definitely have stood out among them.

As the last of the ashes were gathered the tall figure raised his hands over the stone table, palms upward, as if in supplication. Another figure stepped forward with a vial of red liquid. Uncorking the vial, they slowly poured it in thick drops over the bones, staining the white fabric as well. Every last drop was used, the figure even shaking the vial for good measure.

For a moment, the flames of the candles seemed to dim, the smoke from the incense curling thicker and darker. The shadows in the room lengthened, pressing against the walls and suffocating the air with an almost tangible weight.

The hooded men retreated into the shadows, leaving the bloodied bones resting on the white cloth and carrying the ashes with them. As soon as they were gone, Satoru pushed open the door and walked cautiously inside. His eyes scanned the room for any alarms or traps, but it seemed like they must have assumed no one would make it this far inside the main building without permission.

He waved his hand in front of his face, the intense smell of the incense was almost dizzying and richly floral. He couldn't quite place where he'd smelled the scent before, but it was on the edge of his memory. Something foreign, maybe something he'd smelled in western countries?

Approaching the table, he looked down at the tiny collection of bones on the white cloth. Usually, at least for Japanese funerals, all the bones were picked from the ashes and placed separately. Why were only these chosen? The rest didn't seem to be mixed into the ashes either, so where were they?