Love Has No Grave

"Who was that man?"

Elia brought a chair over beside the table and sat down, momentarily confused by his question.

"What man? Oh, the warlock. He's a healer, of sorts. Knows the magic behind what makes us well or ill. He brought you back to me."

"Oh, did he have my body?"

She laughed and cursed herself to remember that her husband wasn't himself yet; he had forgotten how to joke as well.

"No, I had to steal your body from your grave. The warlock used his magic on you to bring you back to life."

"Magic is real?"

"Yes, it appears so. There would be no other way to recover you."

"Why did you bring me back?"

Elia had long forgotten the why of it. She only knew that she must. She couldn't be alone. She couldn't go on without him. Right or wrong, she had to have him.

"I love you, Sulva. That's why. I didn't want to lose you."

Sulva said nothing. If he could have felt anything, he would have felt bad for feeling nothing. Elia recognized that it was not Sulva's fault, but it hurt not to hear him say it back regardless.

"Are you... are you happy to be alive again?"

"I don't know, Elia. Why don't I know anything?"

"We didn't perform the ritual soon enough to bring you back with your mind intact. Filling you with blood took too much time."

"Why did I need blood? Did I lose it when I was killed?"

"Partly. Mostly it was drained from you for your burial. I was too distraught to have anything to do with your arrangements. We're lucky enough that we have the same blood, according to Valjon."

"Who's Valjon?"

"Oh, the warlock."

"I see."

Elia saw that he was staring at the ceiling.

A yawn seized her and she realized she hadn't slept for a long time, beside the rest she had inadvertently attained on the kitchen table. Sulva seldom blinked so she knew he would not be joining her.

"I think I'm going to have a little nap, Sulva. Wake me if you need anything, though."

"Alright, Elia."

She sank into the chair and laid her hand upon Sulva's head, playing with his hair until she fell asleep. Sulva could not feel it, but he could hear a quiet rustling, and then silence, succeeded by light snoring. He twisted his head to peer at her from his peripherals and saw that she was asleep. He wondered what he would do, unable to sleep after waking from the ultimate rest. He wondered if he would ever be able to sleep.

The hours of the night passed as if Sulva was living in a dream. He practiced moving his head and honed the mechanics until he could look at anything his eyes were capable of spotting with ease. Then he started trying to flex feeling into his limbs in earnest. He couldn't, but he believed he was dimly aware of the extent of his body by sunrise. He was not aware, however, to what extent until daylight illuminated the room.

Elia woke with a start, her nodding head startling her as it fell forward like a cup tipping over the edge of a counter. The sunlight pouring through the kitchen window explained to her what had happened. She stood and stretched, luxuriating in the creaks her bones made. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and turned to greet her husband.

He was still there, but he was now accompanied by a stiffness he was not restricted by in death. Standing tall and proud like a flag raised through the cracks of a ruined fortress was his penis, pale as his face and smooth as his bare chest shorn for his autopsy. Elia couldn't cover her gasp in time. Sulva turned from the window and smiled at his wife.

"Oh, good morning, Elia. Do you see my cock?"

"Yes, yes I do, Sulva. It looks incredible. How are you doing that?"

Sulva pondered this, and his member wavered in the air at the divergence of concentration. He caught it and surprised Elia with his first informed answer.

"Concentration. I've been trying to remember what it may have felt like to feel, and what control felt like, it seems I've succeeded."

Elia stared at the rod of flesh lilting slightly to and fro like a flagpole. She had been so crushed by the emotional weight of her husband's death she had forgotten one of the crucial services a husband provided. She felt a weak stirring below, like a flower poking through winter's snow touched by the first ray of spring sunlight. She blushed and returned her gaze to Sulva's excited expression.

"You've control of your face again as well!"

"Yes, I thought so. I can't exactly tell which face I'm making. It feels fuzzy."

Elia had a thought.

"Can you feel this?"

She pushed her finger against the shaft and sent it waving. Sulva waited, concentrating.

"No."

"Oh. No matter. You've already improved since last night, you'll be back to normal in no time."

"You think so?"

"I know so, my love. The warlock is very talented."

A trio of knocks bombarded the front door, destroying the peace of the morning and making Elia jump out of her skin. Sulva merely tried to look up and locate the source of the sound. Elia looked from the door to her husband, lying nude and prone on a table.

"Watch your cock!"

Elia rolled her husband off of the table and into an uncomplaining heap on the floor against the wall before scurrying over to the door. She took a breath and pried it open as slightly as she could. A man stood outside, expectant and impatient. It was Leon, a local footman and keeper of the peace in the town. He had pursued her since he had laid eyes on her, and her marriage had only fractionally slowed his pursuit. She had forgotten him in her grief, but she felt foolish for failing to expect him at her door now that Sulva was believed to be out of the way. His cocky expression repelled her, he had come without even the pretense of paying respects or feigning ignorance.

"Good morning, fair Elia! How do you fare?"

"Not well, Leon. My husband has gone."

The footman did his best to put on a face he believed to expound empathy and forcefully peeled the door open and laid a gloved hand upon the woman's shoulder. He noticed her discomfort and suppressed the urge to lick his lips. He withdrew the hand and pushed his golden hair back behind his ear to compose himself, disappointed that she did not seem interested in his pretty locks. But that was what so inflamed him about her; her resistance was irresistible.

"I had heard. I'm terribly sorry, Elia. Silva was a good man."

"Sulva."

He smiled. They both knew he knew the man he most envied in the town's name. He was the only man he envied in the world. How he loved this game.

"Of course. Forgive me. So beleaguered with sorrow at the realization of his passing that my thoughts are in disarray."

"Oh, I had not realized yet. Still I know his name."

Leon, for once, did not know what to say. Her voice was devoid of life, she did not even seem irritated by him, as she usually was. This did not make the game fun. He grasped the hilt of his sword to ground himself, and glanced behind her, taking notice of an odd smell, and the gloomy interior of a house in mourning. He put on a confident sneer and pushed past the lady, making his way inside as if it was an inn at his pleasure.

Elia whirled around and followed the intruder, panic beginning to rise as she found herself unable to head him off in the narrow hallway. The man stopped in the middle of her den, sniffing at the air like a hound, a sour expression on his face. He looked about the room, searching for what could be associated with the smell. He stopped at the table, the slab of stone out of place in her humble home. He glanced at her curiously but moved on to the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table; Sulva's chair.

"Not got up to much housework these trying times, eh, Elia? It's understandable, of course."

Elia took her place before the slab laden table, hoping the bottom of her dress would obscure the legs of the table and her husband. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the expectant look Leon fixed upon her. He leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the wall.

"Will you serve me something? I'm hungry like a wolf."

"I've nothing to fix in the house."

"Oh? What is that I smell? It seems to be wafting over from that pot over the fireplace. I'll have whatever remains, you need not fix me something fresh."

"Soup, nice and cold."

"That, I'm afraid, will not do. Boil it over a flame for me, will you?"

"I haven't any firewood, either."

"I see. You are doubtless lost without the support of a man of the house, Elia. That is tragically apparent, and I mourn the loss of your dear, late husband all the more, for your sake."

"For my sake, Leon, I ask you to leave me. I have a house to tidy, as you have made very well clear."

The man was on his feet in a flash. The sound of the legs of the chair slamming back down against the floor compounding the thud of his boots. He drew close to her, and lowered his voice to that which he spoke to his countless willing lovers and criminals not yet aware of the kind of man they resisted.

"Sweet Elia. You don't have to for my sake. You know, a pretty thought, but if we were married, you'd seldom have to clean a kitchen. All you would have to mind is the bed."

Elia turned away from his suggestion. His hot breath on her cheek made the desire that had swelled up within her earlier shrivel up and dissipate. Her skin crawled, she wished to be as numb as her husband.

"I will never make my bed again. It bears Sulva's smell yet."

"I would buy new sheets. Holding onto old ones for too long is unhygienic."

He stared at her for a glacial heartbeat and stalked away. Elia remained frozen until she heard the slam of the front door. She felt brought back to life with the deep exhale of breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Elia? I didn't want to interrupt, but I think my cock is broken."

Elia whirled around and crouched down, peering through the shadows to see her husband's back side, bright as the moon. His voice came muffled, his face and chest pressed against the wall.

"Oh! My poor man. Wait just a moment, I'll get you out of there. I'm so sorry!"

Sulva murmured something and Elia crept under the table on hands and knees to retrieve her husband. He was dead weight, unable to help her at all, so she dragged him little by little out from under the table. She pulled him out into the kitchen and laid him up against the wall. She huffed and wiped sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her dress when she was done.

"There you are, love. I'm sorry, but we can't risk anybody finding out I brought you back from death. They would kill us all for dealing in necromancy."

"I understand, Elia, but there's something else..."

Elia followed his wide eyes downward and noticed the stiff pillar of her husband's groin was now bent at an odd angle.

"I... does it hurt?"

"No, nothing hurts. Is it broken? I can't tell if I can control it anymore."

Elia bit her lip and reached her hand down to feel the crooked organ. It felt stiff, alien without the burning heat of passion that accompanied such an extension to her husband. The angle was unfamiliar to her, and formed a pit of worry in her stomach.

"It definitely requires the warlock's attention, but I assure you, nothing can put a man wholly out of commission."

"Oh, that's relieving. Is the warlock coming back soon?"

"We expect him to return with the cure to your amnesia, but I don't know how soon. I'll go fetch him after nightfall. In the meantime, let's get you fed and cleaned up."

Elia started a fire under the soup pot and retrieved a rag to dampen with water from the basin. She got down to her knees and brought the rag to Sulva's face. He watched her work without complaint. She wiped the dust from his cheeks, cursing Leon's critique being proven sound. She moved down his chest and arms, finding herself remembering the nights between them spent under each other's touch. She blushed thinking about it, glancing at Sulva's blank face and finding embarrassment temper the embers of her heart. Her hand moved farther down, washing over his flank and legs, before turning her attention to his still solid cock. She steeled herself, and enveloped it in the rag, wiping it clean in one pass.

"Who was that man?"

Elia set the rag to the side and moved back onto her bottom in front of him. She sighed and recalled the quiet insecurity Sulva had tried so hard not to feel when he caught Leon's attention upon her when they were out in town. He had never gotten angry at her, but that only made her feel worse. He couldn't do anything against a footman, and they both understood Elia found no pleasure in the lustful eye of Leon. It was always a hesitant need for reaffirmation. Elia had no qualms with making her husband feel like the only man in the world in the bedroom, though, and he emerged from their bedroom a man assured each morning. Yet, here Leon persisted, even in the way of their love after death.

"A local footman. He likes to upset me."

"He... enjoys it? How can that be?"

"I don't know, darling. It doesn't matter, though. You never did."

Sulva looked enlightened for a moment, and then uncertainty tensed his features. He looked back up at Elia and hoped his lack of tact would not hurt her feelings.

"I don't call you darling. Or 'my love.'"

Elia had noticed, but she was waiting and hoping for him to start falling back into his old affectionate way of speaking.

"I know. You are Sulva, but reborn. I know you don't remember me."

"I wish I did. From how you talk to me, I know you must love me, but I just can't feel anything."

"I... I shouldn't expect you to, not so soon. I should be happy enough to see you draw breath again. Don't worry about it, love. The warlock will find a way to restore your mind."

"What if there is no way?"

The bubble of the boiling soup interrupted the reply of an answer Elia did not have. She jumped up and rushed over to the pot.

"Ah! Soups on, Sulva! Hope you don't mind broth for breakfast."

Sulva did not mind. Sulva took his soup and tried to determine whether he could feel it's warmth or not.

++++++++++++++

They spent the day together in peace. Elia answered Sulva's questions, filling him in on the details of their life together before he died. He was surprised by their ambitions, the work they put into their home, the nights spent together within. He heard what she said about Sulva and thought him a different person. He couldn't apply how she described him to himself. He didn't know how to describe himself, a man as blank a slate as a newborn. He aspired to be like Sulva, one day. He felt indebted to Elia, for the sorrow she had surmounted, the effort she had expounded to recover him. Filling in for the man she had loved before seemed the only appropriate payment, but how could he when he didn't even know where the man had kept his shoes?

All would return in time. That is what Elia assured him, had hoped against the unknown for. He accepted time's stewardship, and focused on counting his heartbeat.

A deliberate beat upon the backdoor broke his meditation and froze Elia in the boots she had pulled on before setting out to fetch the warlock. She hurried quietly to the door and pressed her ear against the wood.

"Who's there?"

"Valjon Wise!"

Elia relaxed and opened the door for the warlock. He threw down his dark hood and smiled at the nude man sitting on the floor.

"Hello, Sulva! How are you feeling?"

"Hello, warlock. I am, a bit more. Look at this!"

He flexed his piece into a bob in the air before lazing back into his lap. Valjon's eyes bulged and he didn't turn to Elia when she spoke.

"I was just about to seek you out for that."

"Was it... always like that?"

"No, no! He fell off the table and landed on it."

"He fell off the table? Did a surge of reanimation jolt through him?"

"No, I pushed him, actually. We had an uninvited visitor."

"Ah, I see. Well, it so happens I have come for a related matter."

Elia brightened and clasped her hands to her breast. Valjon had expected this and sufficiently restrained his frown.

"You've found the antidote to restore his memory?"

"No, not yet, my dear. I believe I am making headway, though there is still research to be done. No, I've come to restore his movement."

Elia deflated but appreciated the gift the warlock had brought them. She watched him kneel beside her husband and stood there dumbly until he waved her over to the other side of his body.

"Now, this spell will accelerate the return of his control over his body. Think of it like bringing a flame to a block of ice. It will also repair this postmortem injury. Take him in your hand, grasp it firmly and hold it straight. Repeat the word I incant."

Elia did as he said, however bashfully and wrapped her hand around Sulva's cock. Sulva merely watched curiously as the warlock grasped Elia's hand, increasing the pressure he dimly registered. The warlock closed his eyes and centered himself. His eyelids separated and he said the word of power in a powerful voice.

"Loose."

Elia repeated the word and a sound like a creaking tree emanated from under their joined fists.

Valjon lifted his hand and Elia's followed, revealing Sulva's rod straight as an arrow. It seemed to glow as pigmentation was partially restored to his skin, and diminished into flaccidity. Sulva gasped and flailed an arm into the air, narrowly missing the faces of Elia and Valjon as they recoiled out of the way. He apologized and flung the other arm into his shoulder with a meaty slap. Elia looked to Valjon and then pounced onto Sulva's shoulders, restraining him.

"It seems it will take time still before he has accurate control over himself, but this is a great sign!"

"Can you feel, Sulva? Do you feel my hands on your shoulders?"

"Yes! I can feel the heat of the floor beneath me and the force of your fingers. I can feel room in my stomach and the ache behind my scars."

Elia turned to Valjon and spurred on by his boundless smile, laughed heartily to the ceiling. Sulva lost his reign over his mouth and his smile stretched from ear to ear and could not be dislodged until Elia darted a kiss onto his cheek. She had surprised even herself with the gesture, and they stared at each other in similar states of disbelief. There had been no established rule against showing her newly returned husband love, but both had felt that something was in the way. Both suspected it was because Sulva was, in a way, a new person, a stranger, until his memory was returned to him. Valjon understood this instantly, and thought fast, they must stay close, if Elia was to be able to utter the spell that would restore Sulva to the man he was as a living man.

"That was good! That was the second matter. My research indicates that the power of love is a crucial ingredient for a spell to restore a personality. Someone who knows the patient's mind and soul as their own and speaks the words with the sole intent of bringing them back as they were is the only person capable of uttering the words successfully."

Elia bit her lip and looked from Valjon to Sulva.

"So that means..."

"You're married! It is inevitable that you two will rejoice in each other's company and touch. Think of this as another honeymoon, a chance to explore each other for the first time all over again, before the obstacle of reality is restored as soon as I discover the spell."

Elia brushed a hand down Sulva's chest and pressed her hesitant lips against his cheek again, though much less naturally.

"I'm not saying force it! Take it slow. This is all new to Sulva, again. Start by massaging his limbs, it will do his atrophy some good."

"My what?"

"Nevermind. Enjoy being a part of the world of the living again! I must be off. I will return as soon as I have the solution to your premature dementia."