Misnamed Identity

(Content warning: Theme of death, mentions of gore.)

I was dead, that's all I knew.

I simply continued to sit quietly, stilly, waiting for something to change, for memory to return. I feel I can no longer use my eyes, and yet it is as if their range has improved. I can see either wall of the chamber - a slick, misted stone cloaked in the shadows, lit briefly in the dim glow from a crack in the ceiling overhead. And forward, there is an entrance, though the path beyond is unknown to me, fully shrouded and dimmed. The air is cold, damp, and soured by mould. And the floor is much the same. I... I am not certain if such sensation was true. How could I still feel if I were dead?

It was night, I suspected. Yes, it must be. The light coming in should surely be from the moon and stars. And I could be sat up against a wall, slouched, the clothes on my chest and legs tattered and bloody. I studied my skin. I was wasted, rotten. I must have been there for weeks. Had... Had none come looking for me? But who was I anyway? I tried to remember my name... The name, what was the name? I... Er... Ah! Jasce! That was it, my name was Jasce. Oh I remembered it! And I knew where I was and how I'd ended up there.

The damn caves. I had gone looking in the caves. I kept my drink down there. It was cool, and safe from thieves, because only I knew the way! My wines! I must have gone to fetch a bottle. Now I remember. A fissure had formed in the cavern wall, and I'd found hand-carved tunnels behind. I was angry at first, someone must have stumbled upon my hiding place. But... The tunnels were old. Like those of an ancient dungeon. Oh dear... Had I... I triggered a trap, didn't I? I heard something crack, and my foot had dipped into the floor. I turned around, then... Nothing. A sharp pain, I think. My heart... Oh... I could see the bolt pierced through my chest. Had it... Had it at least been quick? The tip of the implement was rusted and toothed. I suppose the shock must have kept me passive.

What had I left behind? I beg ignorance to keep me a while longer, for what kin would not come looking for me? No, stay those memories, please... I... I had no one. I remembered. I'd lived alone, out on the edge of the woods, across the river from the nearest village. I had no wife, no children, no family or friends at all to speak of... I was forsaken. No one would have looked for me, because no one would know I was missing.

And so this place would serve as my tomb. I had done nothing of note in my life. I had shunned the world and sought only solitude. I'd been alone, bitter, cold. Oh and I recalled how I'd treated others too. I would chase the boys that came to skim rocks in the river. I spooked the girls who gathered from the blackberry bushes bordering my garden. I had been hostile, cruel. On my trips to market I would be rude and grouchy towards the shopkeepers. I sneered at babes to make them cry. I wouldn't even spare the fat off a cut of meat for the stray mutts. I was... I'd been a bad person.

Perhaps then I deserved my fate. I'd died in a chill, lifeless chamber - alone, unloved. No one would ever find me or even go looking for me. Yet, I... I couldn't help but wonder... Why could I still perceive everything? I knew for certain I was dead. My body was decaying before my eyes. Was it to be my punishment? To be stuck upon the mortal realm within my own rotting corpse instead of finding peace in the beyond? Was there even a beyond? Was this all there is? I'm dead but I have never felt so furious in all my life! WHY WAS I STILL HERE?

And then a light. The glow of a flame entered the tunnel ahead. Who bore it, I couldn't say. They approached cautiously, I suspect watching out for other traps. Each step came with a resonance, I assume they must have been wearing armour. They shone their torch over me, with their own face hidden in the shade of a hood. I was found. I prayed they would take me away, grant me a proper burial... They hung their torch on the wall, drawing off their hood. A man. His hair had greyed, his features ridged by wrinkles and sharp edges. He looked deeply saddened, coming in close to study my own face, which I'm sure would be a terrible sight for him to bear.

"My Elias. Oh my Elias..."

What? Elias? Who was that?

"My love, forgive me. I took too long to find you."

Ah, I see. He thinks I am someone else. This 'Elias.' I guess I wasn't the first to die down there. I watch as his knees buckle, and he holds my cheek in his hand, which I thought was strange.

"I should have gone with you. I know you wished to explore this place on your own, but I should have been more insistent. I should've-"

He broke down in tears, sobbing in a way I had never heard from another man. I wanted to tell him I wasn't his Elias. He may have been alive, he might still be waiting to be rescued. But I couldn't say anything. I imagine my face must have shared some similarity to his love's, and then the time and the rot reduced any differences even further.

He looked to be a gentleman of rank. Perhaps a knight or lord. To think anyone he loved may have bore resemblance to me was touching, and a little humbling. From his expression, I could see he truly, deeply loved this man he thought me to be. He looked as if his heart had been trampled before his eyes, every ounce of his being crushed and burned to ashes - the dust scattered to the winds. I so wished to be granted the power to impart the truth upon him. But what good were wishes now? I didn't deserve his tears. I wasn't his love. Nay, I wasn't even his servant. I had no relation to this man and yet he thought to hold me so tenderly, to weep for my death.

The man scooped me up in his arms. Whatever I weighed in life I was nought but skin and bone now. He cherished me, cradling me with the care and respect one could only ever show his love. I wasn't worthy of it. Put me down and let me rot in this place. Still he carried me, and out into the light of early dawn. He lay me on the grass, granting me a blissful moment to stare at the endless skies. Then he wrapped me up in a sheet of fine cloth, perhaps silk, and put me over the front of his horse.

We rode through until sun high. He took me top a hill, overlooking the valley and the mountain on one side, and the sea on the other. I had never seen the ocean.

Over the hours, he made a pyre. I was afraid I would feel the heat of the flames, though in the same thought, I thanked him. Perhaps if my body were no longer intact, I would finally be released from my prison. Again, I didn't deserve it. He constructed this pile for whom he believed to be his love. I knew nothing of him or their bond, and yet I felt it through his action, his tears, his gentleness.

I had lived a lonely life. I had been a nasty, vindictive man. I'd split myself from society and restricted myself to solitary comforts... When I could've had this. A person who loved me dear enough to go looking for me when I went astray. A person who should hold me so kindly, wrap my body in luxury, and prepare me a funeral worthy of a king. I would eternally be in his debt, and I prayed that his love would be returned to him, that they may share such love forevermore.

He placed me on a mattress of cut flowers, covered my body up to my head with the cloth, and held my hand. The pyre began to burn beneath me. I felt no heat from it, no pain or sting of the fire. Instead the only warmth I knew was his, and I was sorry that I should make him go through all of it. He may end up needing to do the same for his true love, or he would find him alive and well and having done all this so unnecessarily.

Though he retreated to safety from the blaze, I still felt him by me. Though not a love of mine, nor I of his, I saw him as my guardian, my friend, my angel who would lead me to the beyond. I was grateful. I was at peace. And in that last moment, I felt alive.