Even the sky is a burning red.
It’s so calm and peaceful, as if the air carries forgiveness for all that occurred. It’s neither warm, nor cold. Three men beat on a drum as another sings a deep, raspy song in a language I don’t recognize, his voice dipping low into sounds that move my soul, before climbing higher to an emotional vibrato. Black paint streaks across their skin in delicate lines, like the ones on Soren’s back.
Basilisk stands next to Soren, his black cat sitting by his side, the tail elegantly flopping back and forth. It dawns on me that all of these people have an idea of how their funeral will go, including Basilisk.
Including Soren.
When another bell tolls, everyone from Death’s Wing looks behind them as if they know what to expect. I do the same and see four members wearing black wings carrying a large wooden plank and fur blankets draped on either side.
Anya.
The sight smashes through me, especially as I realize that I’ve never attended a funeral, let alone processed my emotions of losing someone in such a formal setting.Seeing her body on the plank steals the wind from my lungs.She’s truly gone, isn’t she?
Everything spirals, my chest heavy and exhausted, and it’s like I’m back in that damn tower again, staring into watery, onyx eyes that pleaded for me to remember her last words.
If I were paying more attention, I’d register that Soren is watching me more than Anya. Even as my peripheral catches how he steps back a few times to get a better view, I’m keened in on the body being brought by us.She’s nearly in front of me, and I can see she’s wearing simple leathers, her black hair perfectly slicked back, tattoos rising up her neck in the decoration of waves, the shape of a wren morphing out of them.
I’ve never seen someone who died, longaftertheir death. It’s as if I’m looking at her all over again, bleeding out on the stone floor. Whoever took care of her body did miraculous work, as if she might take a breath,anymoment…
I nearly jump when it’s clear Soren is behind me, leaning down in my ear, that voice making me inhale deeply at the effect it has on me. “She wouldn’t want you to feel guilt, Jane.”
I could literally bury my head into his chest and close my eyes until the sun is fully set. How Ineedhim. I look up to give him a small smile. “Thank you. Go ahead and be with your people.”
He doesn’t move, those penetrating eyes softened for me. “No, if I knew Anya, then I know she wanted me to experiencewhat she felt with Amy. So honoring her means checking in with you when I feel anything wrong.”
Tears beckon to fall, but are withheld by sheer exhaustion from doing it so much. I don’t want to reveal my sorrows; no quivering, no sniffing, no hiccups from crying too hard. And yet, Soren knowsexactlyhow I feel. It’s a silent invasion that I could have used in Coalfall, the ability to connect with someone without having to speak a word. He touches the back of my head and kisses the top. I mutter, “Why did she choose that outfit?”
“She and Amy met while training. It’s when she claims she was truly born, and when Amy was killed, Anya always said that’s when she died. So she chose the outfit that we all wear before we’ve earned our stripes.”
Soren’s touch slides down my arm before he returns to his post, watching as Anya is guided to the pyre, the four men ascending the stairs on either side to position her over the construction. Once there, more men bring out giant, preserved wings and lay them on either side of her, the breeze gently rustling the tips.
Theyallbegin to sing as her pyre is set on fire with a torch, and I’ve never heard anything so utterly emotional and yet beautifully painful. One of the men that brought Anya, the one who lit her pyre, stands in front of it. “Burn bright, Anya Lorraine! You were instrumental in our organization, and your loyalty to us is something we all dropped everything to come and honor your life.
“Your soul was shattered years ago, your flesh preserved by Soren’s actions to keep you with us here. May you know peace now, Anya, of Death’s Wing. Fly high and free.”
The spiraling flames, for some reason, don’t make me react like it did for last week.
Don’t break Soren’s heart…
She really did want me to love him. That gives me more resolve than anything else, and I knowthat’show I’ll honor her sacrifice.
I’ll take care of him, Anya. I hope you’re with Amy, now…
I’m told it will burn for hours, long into the night, and remaining present is up to each person. When it’s all said and done, her ashes will be collected to fertilize a garden that grows some of the deadliest plants that the organization uses, the rest given to any family that would claim it.
I imagine, one day, that will be the same for Soren.
The winds pick up, adding to the dramatic fires that burn away anything left that once identifies Anya as someone who existed here.
J A N E
I’m truly happy for Soren that he gets to see those that share the same tattoos on his back. He mentioned it’s always awkward at first, but as long as their hearts are loyal, it’s like seeing a person who knows of a very rare language that not many can speak.
They’ve been through things that onlytheywould understand.
I slowly back away from the small crowd; of course, Soren senses that and watches to see where I’m going, but when his attention is over my shoulder, I turn around to see mydad.
It’s nice to see him withhisface, even if he’s now missing a hand. I heard how he sacrificed it to ensure Jesper didn’t get to kill himself, the fucker somewhere in the ocean, suffering from the siren’s curse. “I have something to show you, Jane,” he says, something gentler in his voice.
