Mortalis

What news from Palmaris?" Duke Kalas asked, sitting astride his short and muscular pinto To-gai-ru pony.King Danube, riding a taller snow-white gelding,turned to regard the man, but it was Constance Pemblebury, trotting her chestnut up between them, who was first to answer.

"Is it midweek already, then?" she asked sarcastically, for they all knew well that the week had Just begun. "Is not that question normally reserved for midweek and the end of the week? "

Duke Kalas glared at the woman, but Constance only laughed and kicked up an even swifter pace, outdistancing her fellow riders across the manicured, hedge-lined field behind Castle Ursal.

"I have heard not a word from our friends in the northern city," King Danube replied to the original question, "nor do I care."

"Nor should you, my King," said Kalas. "The folk of Palmaris are a difficult lot, and made all the harder by their recent experiences in war and in civil strife. If you commanded me back to the place, I would renounce my title of duke of Wester-Honce!"

That made King Danube raise an eyebrow, but he merely nodded; for Kalas had made it quite clear to him from the very first day he had returned to Ursal the previous winter that he had no intention of going anywhere near the wretched city of Palmaris again.

"Still," Danube remarked, "I do wonder about my legacy."

"Your legacy?" Kalas asked incredulously, purposely dramatizing his surprise. "You defeated the demon dactyl and the demon Markwart, who overran the Abellican Church. You-"

"Let us not exaggerate the role that I played in either event, my friend," Danube said. "Indeed, I understand that I will be thought of fondly in decades hence, but there are other matters that I see before me now. Perhaps the strife in Palmaris, and much of the discontent that often rumbles about Ursal's avenues, is the result of too many people too close together. We both know, after all, how disagreeable some are by their very nature."

He ended with a chuckle, and so Kalas joined in.

"Perhaps it is time for us to consider the expansion of Honce-the-Bear's borders; and in that regard, Palmaris might prove a very important location," King Danube reasoned.

"The Timberlands? " Duke Kalas asked doubtfully.

" Impossible, by treaty, and I do not mean to leave a legacy as one who dishonored his word," King Danube replied. "But there are many places in between Palmaris and the Timberlands. The Church has recognized this small town-Caer Tinella by name, I believe-and with the mood of the folk in the north, perhaps we should look in that direction, as well."

"I pray you do not act rashly," Kalas said, "or hastily. The north is much glamorized today because of yesterday's events; but in the end, it remains a savage and untamed place, filled with savage and untamed folk."

"I hear well your words," said King Danube, "but I'll not leave Palmaris without a proper and strong baron at this time."

Kalas' expression dropped and his shoulders sagged.

"Oh, not you, my friend," King Danube said with a laugh. "Nay, even if you were so inclined, I value your advice too much to send you back across the kingdom and away from my side. But there is another Duke, recently returned to my court, whose province actually extends beyond Palmaris to the north and the west."

"Tetrafel," Kalas easily reasoned. "But is he recovered? "

"Nearly well enough, I would say," replied Danube. "He has even begun talking of rewriting his lost journal, though I doubt that any of the maps he draws from memory will prove of much use to future expeditions. But if our Duke is determined to immerse himself in his work, then what better place for him than Palmaris? I will allow him to spend the season in Ursal, recovering, and then I will afford him a strong contingent of supporters for his journey, and in truth, I doubt that Abbot Braumin will prove too difficult to manage."

Duke Kalas nodded and even managed a smile, but given his own experience in Palmaris, he doubted those last words strongly.

The hamlet of Juniper in the rolling green hills of southern Honce-theBear, the county known as Yorkey, was a quiet and unassuming community. Not an old cluster of houses, Juniper traced no deep roots into the past but was, rather, a fairly new community, a place where any settler might step right into the highest social circles, and where new folk were not generally treated with suspicion and derision.

Thus, many of the less acceptable wanderers of southern Honce-the-Bear found their way to Juniper, to a place even they, the unwanted, the different, might call home. That made Juniper a growing community, and, when the brothers of St. Gwendolyn mentioned the place to De'Unnero, a prime target for the Brothers Repentant.

They came one wickedly hot late-summer afternoon, in a line single file, heads down, dressed in their thick woolen Abellican robes with the hoods pulled low, chanting, chanting for forgiveness of their sins and for the sins of all the men in all the world.

De'Unnero led the procession to the small town's central square, the brothers forming a semicircle behind him as he threw back his hood and began his cry to the people. "I am Brother Truth!" he declared. "Hear my words if you value your life and your eternal soul!" Like any other town in Honce-the-Bear in God's Year 828, entertainment was not often found, and a charismatic speaker was a rarity indeed. Soon, the entire village of Juniper had turned out to watch the spectacle.

And what a show De'Unnero and his fanatical followers gave them! The self-proclaimed Brother Truth spoke of the sins of some unnamed man in some unnamed community, and one of the brothers ran forward, stripping off his robes so that he was clothed only in a white loincloth, and prostrating himself on the ground before De'Unnero.

Another brother rushed up with a short, three-stranded whip, and on De'Unnero's orders, proceeded to give the prone brother twenty vicious lashes, drawing deep lines of blood on the man's back.

On and on it went, with De'Unnero's followers, the Brothers Repentant, accepting the sins of the world into their own flesh and blood, and then beating those sins away.

When at last, after more than three brutal hours, De'Unnero's cries diminished, when every Repentant Brother had shed his blood and tears, the show was over. But to the crowd, that was unacceptable; and now, on De'Unnero's cue, it was their turn to proclaim their sins, and more important, to proclaim those sins of their neighbors, openly.

And the Brothers Repentant went at the offending peasants with even more vigor than they had lashed each other.

When two men were accused of an "unnatural friendship," they were beaten into unconsciousness and then publicly castrated. When a young boy was accused of stealing a neighbor's chickens, De'Unnero forced the boy's own mother to cut off his hand. And she did it! Because the folk of Juniper knew of the rosy plague and did not doubt this holy Abellican brother who had come to them to tell them why the plague had arisen, and more important, how it could be put down.

The last order of business in Juniper came long after sunset. The Brothers Repentant were still in the public square, completing their ritual with an orgy of self-flagellation, when De'Unnero spotted a dark-skinned Behrenese among the onlookers. The heathen was dragged forward to face the fierce master. "Who is your God?" De'Unnero demanded.

The man didn't answer.

"Chezru?" the master asked, naming the deity of the Behren yatols. "Do you fall to your knees to worship Chezru? "

The man didn't answer, but he was trembling visibly now, as De'Unnero walked around him, slowly, scrutinizing his every aspect.

"Deny him," De'Unnero instructed the man when he came around to face him squarely once again. "Publicly denounce Chezru, here and now, as a false idol."

The man didn't answer.

"If you'll not do it, then you have already answered my first question," De'Unnero said slyly. "Denounce Chezru, I say! Name him as the betrayer of souls."

One of the other Brothers Repentant rushed up, as if to tackle the man, but De'Unnero held him back.

"We see the plague growing in our lands," the master explained to the frightened dark-skinned man. "We know its source: the errant course of worship. Denounce Chezru now, I warn you, else you reveal yourself as a heretic and, thus, a sire of the plague."

That last statement seemed to bolster the poor Behrenese man. He took a deep breath and looked evenly at De'Unnero. "You beseech me to abandon my soul to save my flesh," he said in his thick Behrenese accent. "That I cannot do."

"Hang him!" came one cry, but De'Unnero stifled it, and all subsequent ones.

"Where are his people?" the master asked loudly. Then he had his answer; and he was pleased to learn that an entire enclave of Behrenese were living on an old farm just outside Juniper.

"Bring him," he instructed his Brothers Repentant, and the Behrenese man was dragged away. On went the procession, through the night, torches in hand. They encircled the large farmhouse and saw the frightened facesold folks and children included-peering out at them through the windows.

De'Unnero ordered the Behrenese out of the house, but they refused.

"Who is your God?" he called to them. "Do you serve the Abellican Church or the Chezru chieftain of your homeland? "

No reply.

De'Unnero signaled to two brothers flanking him, each brandishing blazing torches, to approach the house.

"You will answer me or we will burn your house down around you!" De'Unnero roared. "Which Church do you serve?"

The door slid open and an old, weathered, dark-skinned man walked out, moving slowly but steadily toward the volatile monk,

He looked to the Brothers Repentant holding the other Behrenese. "Let him go," he demanded. They ignored him, and he followed their gazes to the ringmaster.

"Begone from here," the old man said to De'Unnero. "Our home is this, fairly taken and rebuilt. No explanations do we owe you."

"You are yatol," De'Unnero accused, for that was the religion of the southern country, and he knew from the dark-skinned man's accent and inflection that he had not been long in Honce-the-Bear.

The old man squared his shoulders.

"Name the Abellican Church as your Church," De'Unnero demanded. "Accept St. Abelle as your savior and our God as your God!"

"Our faith we will not renounce," the man said proudly, lifting his gaze so that he could address the crowd. But then he was down on the ground, suddenly dropped by a heavy punch delivered expertly by Marcalo De'Unnero. And then he and the other man were sent running, chased by Brothers Repentant brandishing whips. Those angry monks chased the two Behrenese right up to the house, cracking their whips, forcing the darkskinned men to seek refuge inside.

"Burn them in their house," De'Unnero instructed, and the rest of the Brothers Repentant surged forward with their torches, setting the house ablaze on all sides, taking care to quickly engulf any potential exits.

The screams soon followed, pleading and begging, but the Brothers Repentant did not heed those cries and shed no tears for the heathen Behrenese, for they, like the followers of Avelyn, were to blame for delivering the rosy plague upon the land. They, with their sacrilegious ritualswhich De'Unnero insisted included the sacrifice of kidnapped fair-skinned babies-were not innocent. Nay, by the cries of De'Unnero, whipping all the gathering, even the secular peasants, into a fury and a frenzy: the Behrenese were akin to minions of the demon dactyl.

De'Unnero called up all the rumors of Behrenese horrors, relentlessly condemning the dark-skinned southerners. His moment of highest triumph came shortly thereafter-the house burning wildly, smoke billowing into the nighttime sky-when one Behrenese woman somehow managed to elude the fire and run out, only to be hunted down by the folk of Juniper, the crowd stirred by De'Unnero's tirade. They caught her and dragged her down, beat her and kicked her, and carried her back to the inferno. Howling with rage and glee, ignoring her pitiful screams, they threw her back into the fire to be consumed.

The Brothers Repentant left Juniper a torn and battered place the next day, moving out across the rolling fields of southern Honce-the-Bear. Behind them, they left fifteen dead and scores maimed and scarred. And yet, to some at least, they left as heroes, as the holy brothers who would defeat the rosy plague. Indeed, the number of Brothers Repentant grew by four that day, young, strong men of Juniper wanting to join in the war against sin, against the plague. Men willing to accept the responsibilities of mankind's sins onto their own shoulders. Men willing to suffer. And to kill.

"She is with child again," Abbot Je'howith announced to King Danube and Duke Kalas on the day after the autumn equinox, after his examination of Constance Pemblebury. "Another son."

King Danube smiled; Kalas laughed out loud. "Thus the heir and the spare," the Duke said.

Danube looked at him directly. His first instinct was to lash out at his rather callous and blunt friend, but he held the words in check. Duke Kalas had a right to be questioning the status of the children, Danube realized, given that he had not yet publicly announced the Denial of Privilege for Merwick, his first son with Constance, now nearly seven months old.

"We will see if that is to be," the King replied, and calmly.

Kalas paused, and pondered the reply carefully. "You have invoked Refusal of Acceptance before," he reasoned, "but not with one as close as Constance. Do you plan to marry her? "

Now it was Abbot Je'howith's turn to laugh, a cackling sound that turned both sets of eyes upon him. "Indeed, my sovereign," he said, "do you plan to marry Lady Pemblebury? As your adviser in matters spiritual, I have to inform you that these conceptions, unless immaculate, do not set such a fine example for the rabble."

All three had a good laugh at that, and Danube was glad for the dodge. He knew that he had to make some serious decisions, and soon, but truly he was torn. He did care for Constance, and dearly, and did not want to bring her pain in any way. But still, that image of another beautiful and spirited woman stayed bright in his mind.

They let it go at that for the time being, and Je'howith skulked back to his abbey, while Kalas escorted Danube on their daily ride across the fields, enjoying the luxuries his by birthright, the pleasures that accompanied exalted station.

Those pleasures would prove short-lived.

The news of the summer riot in the hamlet of Juniper and of similar outbursts along the farmlands between Ursal and Entel didn't reach Castle Ursal until the next week, ironically, the very same day that the first victim of the rosy plague was confirmed within the city.

The mood in Danube's audience hall-where Danube, Duke Kalas, Constance, and the baby Merwick, awaited the arrival of Duke Tetrafel and Abbot Je'howith-was somber, a far shift from the carefree revelry among the nobles throughout the previous season. Suddenly the world seemed a darker place, and whatever reprieve the nobles of Danube's court had experienced after the fall of the dactyl and its minions and the shake-up within the Abellican Church, seemed fast diminishing. None of them had experienced the rosy plague before, of course, but they knew well the histories, the devastation the sickness had wrought upon their kingdom on several occasions in centuries past.

"It is the plague!" came the cry, and Duke Tetrafel entered the room, out of breath from his long run through Castle Ursal. " It is confirmed, my King. The rosy plague!"

King Danube motioned for the man to calm down and take one of the seats that had been placed about before the throne. With a glance to the side, to see young Merwick at play with some game pieces, Tetrafel seated himself right before Danube.

"I have just spoken with one of the brothers of St. Honce," Tetrafel started to explain, but Danube raised his hand to cut the man short.

"We have already been informed," the King explained. "I spoke with Abbot Je'howith earlier this morn."

"The rosy plague!" Tetrafel said, shaking his head. "What are we to do? "

"What can we do?" Duke Kalas answered. "Lock our doors fast and tight."

"And continue with the business of ruling," King Danube added. "For you, Duke Tetrafel, that means completing your reconstruction of your lost diary. All that you and your team toiled for in the west must not be lost to the ages."

Duke Tetrafel winced, obviously pained by the memory. "Even the Doc'alfar? " he asked quietly.

"Especially the Doc'alfar," King Danube answered. "These are potential enemies, and I plan to know about them, all about them."

Duke Tetrafel nodded.

"But you'll not continue your work here," the King went on. "I need you to serve as my eyes and ears and mouth in Palmaris."

Tetrafel winced again. "But the plague, my King," he protested.

"Chasewind Manor is secure," Duke Kalas added, "and comfortable. You will find all that you need there, and as much security from the plague as can be found here-as can be found anywhere in all the world, I fear."

"Duke Tetrafel," King Danube started formally, seeing that the man remained unconvinced, "I have great plans for the north, for the wild lands north of Palmaris, many of which fall within your province. We will delay those plans, no doubt, while the rosy plague runs its devastating course, but when the sickness has passed-and always, it passes-I intend to turn my eyes northward, to Palmaris and beyond. To Caer Tinella and all the way to the Timberlands.

"It will be the greatest expansion of Honce-the-Bear since the conquest of Vanguard, and I will need you, the greatest explorer of our day, to lead the way. So go to Palmaris with all haste. Duke Kalas has prepared his journal from his months there. Rule wisely and always with an eye toward the glorious future that you and I will find."

The appeal proved more than successful. Duke Tetrafel rolled forward off his chair, to one knee before Danube. "I will not fail in this, my King," he said, bowing his head. Then he came up, saluted, and left the room in a hurry, nearly running over Abbot Je'howith in the process.

"One so old as that should not be so excitable," Je'howith remarked, walking in, the others noticed, with a more pronounced limp this day.

Je'howith took Tetrafel's vacated seat and leaned back, though he didn't seem as if he could get comfortable at all. The old abbot's sullen expression was as clear an answer to the intended first question as Danube needed.

"It is true then," the King stated. "The rosy plague has descended upon Ursal."

"And with more vigor to the east," Je'howith replied.

"A minor outbreak? " Constance spoke hopefully, her gaze going to her child as she asked the question.

"Who can tell?" Je'howith answered. "There have been occasions when the plague has appeared, but quickly dissipated, and others ..." He let it end there, with a shake of his head.

"And in either case, what good is your Church, Abbot Je'howith? " Duke Kalas put in, the enmity between the two wasting no time in rearing up, as it did at every council session. "Will your abbots close their abbey doors, that they do not hear the pleas of the dying? Will they block their tiny windows, that they do not see the suffering of the people they pretend to lead to God?"

Abbot Je'howith perked up at those remarks, sat up straight and tall and narrowed his eyes. "We will indeed bolt our doors against the populace," he admitted. "And so shall you, Duke Kalas, and you, King Danube. We cannot battle the plague; and so we must, all of us, try to hide from it as we may."

"And what of the peasants out in the streets?" Duke Kalas went on dramatically, though it was obvious that he had no logical side in this debate, for even Danube was nodding his agreement with Je'howith's words.

"They will try to hide, as well," Je'howith answered, "And many will be caught and will die, and horribly, because that is God's will."

Duke Kalas stood up so forcefully at that proclamation, at the notion that any god might be involved in the rosy plague, that his chair went flying behind him.

"Anything that you cannot explain or control you claim as God's will," he accused.

"Everything in all the world is God's will," Je'howith retorted.

" Like the coming of the demon dactyl? " Kalas asked slyly, sarcastically, given the accepted theory that the previous Father Abbot of the Abellican Church had fallen under the spell of the demon Bestesbulzibar.

Je'howith only shrugged and turned away from the Duke, facing the King instead. That action surprised Kalas-and Danube and Constance as well-for usually the old abbot seemed to enjoy the verbal sparring with Kalas as much as the Duke did.

"There are other issues we must discuss," Danube said gravely, "concerning your Church. Have you heard anything of these so-named Brothers Repentant?"

"Only as much as yourself, my King," Je'howith answered. "A rogue band, and not sanctioned by Father Abbot Agronguerre."

"And their leader? " Danube asked. "This Brother Truth? "

Kalas snorted at the ridiculous title.

"I know nothing of him," Je'howith replied.

"They travel from town to town," Duke Kalas remarked angrily, moving beside Danube. "They decry the sins of man and beat each other senselessno difficult feat, I would guess, for ones so fanatically committed to the Abellican Church."

"Spare me your foolish comments," Je'howith said dryly.

"Would that it ended there," said King Danube. "They seem to be seeking enemies of the Church, or, at least, of their version of the Church. On two occasions, they have persecuted Behrenese."

"I have heard as much."

"And does this alarm you?" King Danube baited, for he knew that Je'howith, like most Abellicans, held little love for the heathen southerners.

"What would you have me say? " the old monk replied.

"Do you understand that Honce-the-Bear trades with Behren?" King Danube said. He, too, stood up, and motioned for Duke Kalas to move aside. "Have you so quickly forgotten the turmoil caused by Bishop De'Unnero, when he began a similar persecution of the Behrenese in Palmaris? Ambassador Rahib Daibe nearly suspended trade, and threatened war. Perhaps your Church considers the persecution of heathens no matter of import, my old friend, but I do not desire to thrust my kingdom into another war!"

His voice rose with his ire. All in the room-Constance and Kalas and Je'howith, and even his infant son-looked at him incredulously. Rarely had they seen King Danube Brock Ursal, as even-tempered as any man alive, so animated and flustered.

"My Church is not to blame for the rosy plague," Abbot Je'howith said quietly.

"But if your Church complicates the trouble-" Duke Kalas started to warn, but Danube cut him off with a sharp wave.

"I warned you and the others in Palmaris to put your house in order," Danube said.

"As we have!" Je'howith protested. Now he, too, rose from his seat, though shakily, to get on even footing with his adversaries. "Father Abbot Agronguerre is a fine man; and despite the words of Duke Kalas here, you cannot dispute that Abbot Braumin Herde has done a fine job in bringing order to the devastated city of Palmaris."

"Devastated by your Church most of all," said Kalas. But Danube hushed him again, this time with a sharp wave and then a threatening look.

The King blew a long sigh then, and sank back into his chair. How quickly the darkness had descended on him and on his kingdom! A few days before, he was celebrating a successful and peaceful summer and the news of another son, and now, suddenly, it was as if he and his kingdom had been thrust back into the midst of turmoil.

"The Brothers Repentant are not sanctioned?" he asked calmly.

Je'howith shook his head. "We know nothing of them, nor would we applaud their efforts."

"Nor are they unprecedented," Constance Pemblebury unexpectedly put in, and the other three looked to her. "In time of great desperation, such cults often reveal themselves. In the first onset of the plague, the Brothers of Flagellation-"

"Yes, yes," Je'howith agreed. "In desperate times come desperate measures."

Danube rubbed his eyes and sighed again. "See that they are not, and are never, sanctioned," he warned Je'howith, "or risk war between Church and Crown."

Je'howith nodded, and wasn't particularly worried, for he knew Father Abbot Agronguerre well enough to understand that the man would never agree to such actions as were being attributed to this rogue band.

"Is there nothing that we can do against the plague?" Danube asked softly.

Je'howith shook his head. "We can hide," he answered.

On that sour note, the meeting adjourned, with Je'howith retiring to his private quarters in St. Honce but only after issuing orders to all his brethren that they were no longer to go out among the peasants and that the great oaken doors of the abbey were to remain bolted and guarded. In addition, all but the essential civilian workers at St. Honce were dismissed that day, sent home and told not to return.

Within the week, the brothers of St. Honce had blessed and laid a tussiemussie bed outside their walls and a second outside the closed gates of Castle Ursal. Reports of the plague continued to grow within the city, as Je'howith knew it would, as it always had in crowded areas during previous outbreaks.

By the end of the following week, crowds of sufferers appeared outside the walls of both abbey and castle. Wails rent the night air regularly: mothers, mostly, finding the telltale red spots on the limbs of their children.

Abbot Je'howith watched it all from the narrow window of his room, high in the main tower of St. Honce. How old he felt, and how weary! Weary of everything, of his fights with Duke Kalas-arguments where the frustrated King Danube now seemed to be leaning more in favor of Kalas. Weary of the philosophical war he had waged within his own Church. Weary of upstart young brothers-who was this Brother Truth?-who thought they understood the truth of the world but surely did not!

Abbot Je'howith had found purpose after the fall of Markwart in Palmaris in the form of simple survival and of protecting the memory of the former Father Abbot. How moot that seemed now, with the rosy plague spreading fast across the land, a horror that would bury even the terrible memories of the demon dactyl.

Je'howith looked around him at the ancient stone walls, aware of the very real possibility that he would never again see the world outside this sanctuary, this prison. On its previous visits to Honce-the-Bear, the rosy plague had stayed a decade or more. The members of the Abellican Church would turn inward for the duration, would begin the great debates about the universe anew, the purpose of Man and of life itself, the nature of God, the reality of death.

Je'howith, too old and too tired and too certain that he had no answers, wanted no part of it.

He heard the cart men then, as twilight descended, walking the streets of Ursal in their black robes and masks, calling for the folk to bring out their dead.

Je'howith knew that soon enough those carts would make extra trips and would be overloaded at every one.

" Bring out yer dead!"

The words cut profoundly into old Abbot Je'howith, a poignant reminder of impotence and futility.

" Bring out yer dead!"

He shuffled to his cot and, weary of it all, lay down.

It began as a numbness in his arm, a tingling that spread gradually throughout his shoulder and upper chest. His last meal, he presumed, disagreeing with his old bowels.

But the numbness changed to a burning sensation, general at first, but becoming more and more focused about his heart, and the old man understood.

He lay there, frantic but helpless, doubting that he could even find the strength to walk out of his room. He turned his head and stared at his night table. He had a hematite in there, he recalled through the waves of pain. Perhaps he could use it to contact another brother. .. ,

A darker thought came to old Je'howith, a recent memory of his examination of Constance Pemblebury. He had used the soul stone to enter her body, her womb, had seen the unborn child and felt its warmth and its spirit. He could expel that spirit, he realized. He could use the soul stone to send his spirit into Constance's womb, to take the body of the unborn babe. To be reborn as the son of the King!

Je'howith clutched his chest as another sharp wave of pain washed over him.

As soon as it abated, his hand moved for the night table.

But then he recoiled, considering more clearly the course he had devised, recognizing the immorality and wrongness of it! How could he think to do such a horrible thing? He had spent his whole life in the service of God, and though he had made mistakes and though he had often failed, he had never done wrong purposefully! And certainly he had never entertained the idea of something as sinful as this!

With a growl against the pain, Abbot Je'howith did indeed reach over and pull forth the soul stone, bringing it close to his burning heart. He fell into the swirls of the gem, not to attack the spirit of Constance's unborn child, not even to contact another brother.

No, his time here was over, the old abbot understood. His weariness of it all was, he believed, a call from God that it was time to come home.

The old abbot replayed most of his life in those last few minutes, most of all the final years, when Markwart had gone astray and Je'howith had, out of fear and darker intentions, willingly followed him. He wondered, given the many turns, if he would truly find redemption at the end of this final road.

He wondered, and not without trepidation, what redemption might be.

Abbot Je'howith closed his eyes for the last time.