No More Tears

By Abigail Falanga

Tari watched incense drift to the ceiling. After the ceremonies ended, when the artificial gravity automatically shut down, the fragrance would fill the pyramid—weaponized by the addition of a toxic compound. The haze would obscure the gold and precious jewels that glimmered from every surface, deterring any grave robbers who made it past the complex security system guarding the inner burial room.

Tari brought her mind back to the present. She knew the chants by heart but found her groans and ululations lacked emotional fervor if her mind drifted.

She added an extra sob.

The family grouped around the elaborately inlaid coffin, looking almost as bored as she felt. The deceased, embalmed in the traditional way with organs tucked in canopic jars for the journey through the afterlife, had been a youth who’d wasted his life on luxury and willfulness. Few would miss him.

The chants ceased. Mourners shuffled away. His mother laid a lingering hand on the sarcophagus, eyes red.

Good.

If their efforts had awakened sentimentality in the mother’s heart, she’d tip well, perhaps tell others how moving the funeral had been.

It was good for business.

Tari and her colleagues waited a few minutes in respectful silence as the priests performed the last rituals and left. Then Tari pulled a fold of her white gown up to wipe her eyes and rose.

Unfortunately, it was Tari’s turn to stay behind and set mourning seals in place while the rest of the party—family, friends, priests, attendants, and professional mourners—shared a funerary feast on the cruiser.

Pity. The feasts were the best perk of this job.

Tari waved her colleagues off from the docking bay as the cruisers drifted into the Nile Ways, which connected the systems of the Interstellar Egyptian Kingdoms. The other two pyramids were visible, gleaming gold in the starlight. They were beautiful, massive monuments to wealth—tombs of the royal families.

But there was work to be done before she took the small company shuttle back to base on Delta 1.

Incense wafted toward her. Tari choked a bit and waved it away.

Tidy up linens, set three seals—

Was that a noise?

Tari peered into the haze of the third chamber. She was supposed to be alone. Even the priests had gone. Still…

“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”

No answer.

She shook her head and packed away the irritants she and her colleagues used to produce tears.

Clunk!

Tari spun around in time to see something—someone—turn the corner.

“You can’t be here!” she shouted. “Security locks in soon. You’ll be killed.”

“You’ll be killed,” a voice repeated. It was no echo.

Tari stuffed away the last of the paraphernalia. “It’s your choice.”

“Are you…” came the voice again, “…afraid?”

“I don’t have time for this. You want to die, fine.” Tari ignored the shiver running down her spine and set the next three seals in place. “If you want a lift, I’m leaving.”

“Are you?”

Tari looked around. Still no sign of the weirdo. “Are you coming?”

Silence. Then, “Where are the slaves?”

Tari’s mouth went dry. “They outlawed the practice of burying slaves with the dead years ago.”

“Then who will carry their riches in the afterlife?”

“Drones are considered more humane.”

“But drones shed no tears.” The voice was so near that she could feel rancid breath crawl on her skin.

Tari hiked up her skirts, ready to run—or fight. “Who are you?”

Nothing.

She set off at a brisk walk toward the docking bay, watching the shadows, cursing whoever thought starlight and dim lamps a good idea. No sound of pursuit, but she felt it following.

“The slaves wept as they knew their deaths were approaching.”

The voice came so suddenly and just behind her that Tari let out a small scream, nearly jumping out of her skin.

“Their tears were delicious. Powerful. Potent.”

“What are you?” she nearly shrieked.

“I’m hungry,” it laughed.

Tari ran.

The corridors of the great pyramid seemed endless. Doors slid down behind her as she passed, security protocols sealing them.

Finally, Tari reached the docking bay and skidded to a stop beside the shuttle airlock.

Was she alone? Had she managed to leave it behind?

She glanced around—and shrank back as something only vaguely humanlike, made of shadow, crawled into the docking bay on limbs too long.

The shuttle.

Tari slammed her hand on the hatch, ready to jump inside the instant the doors opened.

“Error,” a computer intoned. “Airlock compromised. Cannot open.”

“You can’t leave,” the thing said. “I need your tears.”

“I can shed tears for you if that’s all you want,” Tari hissed. “That’s my job—tears on command. Just let me go.”

“Not only tears. Grief. Fear. Are you afraid?”

“Terrified!” Tari was shaking, but her sobs were dry.

Something like a lifeless hand crept up her arm and compelled her to turn.

It had no face.

“You have no tears left,” it said. “Have you no heart?”

Tari gasped as it pressed onto her face, then withdrew. In its place came memory—of the funeral and how her weeping came not out of the pity for the family, like she had once felt, but from practiced artifice. She hadn’t cared for a long time.

“Warning,” said the computer. “Full security measures engaging in fifteen minutes.”

“Please!” Tari whispered. “Let me go. The incense will be weaponized—I’ll die.”

“Like the slaves,” mused the thing. “They wept when they realized their fate was sealed.”

It withdrew, leaving silence.

Tari turned to the control panel, trying everything she knew, hitting the distress signal only to get static, praying to whatever gods might be listening. Nothing.

“Five minutes until full security.”

“Please!” Tari sobbed. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“Ahhh…” came the hungry voice. “There it is.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail Falanga may be found in New Mexico creating magic in many ways—with fabric, food, paper, music, and especially with words! She’s loved fantasy ever since playing out epic adventures of swords, fairies, and monsters with her siblings, and loved sci-fi since her dad’s stories around the dinner table. Besides sharing mad little stories on Havok, she is busily trying to launch approximately five hundred novels into the world. Some of them are even finished!

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