CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
ROMAN
L ee’s blood was warm on my hands as I cradled him in Olivia’s father’s overgrown yard. Marcellious’ cries cut through the heavy air, a relentless keen that melded with the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of evening birds. Beside me, Malik stood rigid as stone, his features carved into an expression of grim resignation, his arms tightening protectively around Luna and Rosie.
“Lee...” I murmured, but it was useless. Lee was gone, snatched away by a bullet never meant for him. Hatred for Alina churned in my gut, a black tide that threatened to swallow me whole.
“Roman…” Olivia’s voice broke through the fog of my anguish. “Roman, please…”
I rose, gently laying Lee’s body down on the vibrant grass—a cruel juxtaposition to the loss we bore. Marcellious’ screams of rage tore at my soul, each cry a mirror to my turmoil.
Why? How could this happen?
“I fucking hate my mother. I am going to kill her,” Olivia wailed, collapsing into my arms. Her body trembled as sobs wracked her frame. “My beloved friend and mentor is gone! ”
Her words were raw, jagged edges slicing through the suffocating quiet.
“Shh, love,” I murmured, though my voice was a fragile thread against the torrent of grief surrounding us. “We’ll get through this.”
My heart felt like it was being wrenched apart. The weight of her despair, the unbearable loss of Lee—it was too much to bear.
“Lee shouldn’t be dead,” Olivia cried, her voice cracking with every word. “He should still be alive, and it’s all because of me.”
Tears streamed down my face as I fought to reconcile the tragic reality before us. My mind raced, replaying every moment that led to this devastating outcome. Each misstep, each choice—it all felt like it had spiraled into this unbearable loss.
“I can’t stand her, you know?” Olivia said, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s like this never-ending storm inside me, tearing at everything good. All those years of letdowns and lies, threats that cut deeper than any blade, words that poisoned every memory… Mom’s like a monster growing stronger daily, impossible to escape.”
“But now isn’t the time to mete justice,” I said firmly. “Now is the time to tend to the dead. Your mother will get what she deserves.”
Olivia’s eyes bore into me, cold and distant, as though my words were empty air, unable to reach the tempest within her.
With a heavy sigh, Malik, Marcellious, and I lifted Lee’s lifeless body together. The weight of him was more than physical—it was the weight of everything we had lost. We moved silently through the woods, shadows clinging to us like mourners in a solemn procession. Lee’s shed loomed ahead, where he had breathed life into wood and thread, crafting symbols of hope and dreams with his hands.
Inside, we cleared his worktable, brushing aside intricately carved statues and delicate dreamcatchers that whispered of his spirit and talent. We laid him gently upon the wooden surface, and the world seemed to dim around us. The stark reality of his absence settled on my chest like a stone, threatening to crush me with its finality.
“Goodbye, my friend… my mentor…” I choked out, my voice breaking as I reached to close his unseeing eyes with trembling fingers. “You were the best of us.”
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying our shared anguish to the heavens. It was as though the forest itself mourned with us, swaying in time with the rhythm of our grief.
The door to the shed burst open, and Olivia staggered inside, her chest heaving from the exertion of running. She had exchanged her elegant caftan for a simple, modern dress, its fabric clinging to her in disarray. Despite the change, her face was still a mask of raw emotion—grief etched into every line.
She dropped a bundle of clothing onto a chair. “Here. Emily provided us with modern clothes. There’s a set for Malik, too. We can’t go around looking like this.” Her lip curled as she gestured toward my Ottoman attire, a hint of disdain slipping through her sorrow.
Wordlessly, I picked up a shirt and a pair of pants, stepping aside to replace my 16th-century garments with the familiar practical modern attire. The fabric felt different against my skin, a sharp reminder of how far we’d come—and how much we’d lost along the way.
“Emily’s watching the kids,” Olivia said in a rush, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what to do next. The clothes Emily gave me felt like busywork to distract me from my grief. It didn’t work.” Tears streaked her face as her words flowed out in a hectic, uneven stream. “We have to bury him. Can you... can you contact someone from his tribe?”
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to do that.
“You saw my dad use a phone when you were here before, right?” she pressed, desperation creeping into her voice.
“Uh…” I said again, faint recollections of strange 21st-century communication devices flickering in my mind.
“Lee has an old-school landline in his office. Look around his desk for ten-digit numbers—those are phone numbers. Then, you pick up the receiver thingie…” She mimicked, lifting something to her ear. “And stab the numbers onto the little squares on the phone.”
Her fingers moved in quick stabbing motions, her exasperation growing. “Hold the handset—the receiver thingie—next to your ear. And listen. And talk.”
“Can’t you do it?” I asked, mystified and feeling overwhelmed by the task.
“I need to sit with Lee,” she said, her voice softening. “I feel it’s important not to leave him alone. You can do this, sweetheart.” She squeezed my bicep, her grip firm with a misplaced confidence I didn’t share.
I did not, however, feel reassured.
“If you can’t figure it out, come and get me,” she added, her expression softening as if trying to summon her faith in me.
How hard could it be? Nodding mutely, I stepped out of the dimly lit shed and into the unrelenting starkness of grief—a heaviness no sunlight could erase. The house loomed before me, alien in its familiarity, its walls steeped in echoes of laughter that now seemed like distant memories.
In Lee’s office, amidst the chaotic remnants of his life’s work, I found a name and ten hastily scribbled numbers on a crumpled scrap of paper—a breadcrumb left by fate. The note read, “Sioux Elder.”
I rummaged through the cluttered desk, searching for any sign of this “landline” Olivia had mentioned. Jack and Lee once showed me modern communication devices—small, rectangular gadgets that fit snugly in their palms. Yet, there was nothing of the sort here. Instead, my eyes fell upon a squarish object made of what they called plastic. A wire coiled from its back, confirming my suspicion—this had to be the landline.
I lifted the unfamiliar object—the handset, I presumed—and pressed it to my ear. A strange buzzing sound filled the silence, making me doubt whether I’d chosen correctly. Recalling Olivia’s instructions to “stab” the small squares in a specific sequence, I examined the device more closely. Each square bore tiny letters beneath the numbers, their presence turning the task into an exercise in deciphering ancient symbols.
Even in my fog of grief and confusion, I pressed the squares in the order scribbled on the paper. The buzzing hum ceased, replaced by a soft, melodic tone—tiny bells ringing in unison, clear and soothing.
My pulse quickened when a woman’s voice pierced the silence, warm and inviting. “Hello?”
Her words flowed like sweet honey, embracing me in an unseen comfort. Though I could not see her, her presence was palpable, as if she had materialized from thin air. My throat tightened as I prepared to respond, uncertainty weighing heavy on my chest.
“Hello?” I stammered, quickly reading the name scribbled on the paper. “Talia Redfeather?”
The name felt foreign as it left my lips.
“Ah, Roman,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of recognition. “I believe I know why you’re calling.”
“You do?”
“Yes. There has been a passing. It was Moon Lee, wasn’t it?” She didn’t wait for my response. “This morning, as dawn’s first light kissed the sky, an unusual chill whispered through the air.”
Her words carried a reverence that painted vivid images in my mind as if I were standing beside her, witnessing the scene she described.
“The bald eagle,” she began, her voice soft and mournful, “with its wings spread wide—a blessing from the Great Spirit—rose gracefully from the east. It circled our village three times, each pass tugging at my soul a little more. And when it let out that final haunting cry, it felt as though sorrow was etched into the skies themselves.”
She paused, the weight of her words settling in the space between us before she continued. “A white buffalo calf stood alone on the hill—a sacred messenger of change, purity, and peace. A sign of the great loss our people have suffered.”
Chills crept up my spine, the room around me dissolving into the vivid imagery her words conjured. How could nature itself mourn so deeply?
“Lee was... he was much loved,” I said.
“Indeed,” Talia replied, her tone firm yet tender. “And now, I must speak with Olivia. She needs to know what must be done.”
“How did you?—”
The question faltered on my lips. Of course, they knew of Olivia through Lee.
“Lee spoke of you both,” Talia explained. “You were no secret to us. Now, I must speak to your beautiful wife.”
“I, uh… the thing I’m speaking on is affixed to the wall,” I said, fumbling over the words. “She’s in the shed.”
Talia laughed softly. “This is all new to you. You are from a different era.”
“Yes,” I admitted, my ears burning with embarrassment. “I’m not familiar with these devices.”
“Well,” she said patiently, “set the handset on the desk. Please do not put it back on the phone, or we’ll be disconnected. Go get Olivia, and I’ll wait here.”
Relieved by her calm guidance, I placed the handset carefully on the desk and hurried to the shed. “Talia Redfeather wants to speak with you,” I called to Olivia.
She followed me back into the house, her hands trembling as she pressed a small button labeled “Speaker.”
“Hello?” she said, her voice wavering slightly as it carried into the air.
Talia’s voice filled the room, melodic and grounding, as though it danced with an unseen rhythm. We leaned in, hanging on every word, as she explained what needed to be done. “Take Lee to Paha Sapa,” Talia instructed, her tone steady and reverent. “His shed—his favorite place. “Find his writings—his poems and thoughts,” she continued. “Read them to him until we arrive.”
“I will,” Olivia said, though her voice quivered with hesitation. “But… we have children. They might interrupt us.”
“A few teens from the tribe will accompany us,” Talia reassured. “They will look after the children until the ceremony ends. You don’t need to worry.”
With those arrangements settled, we began our vigil—a time of preparation and remembrance. Together, we jotted down the prayers Talia recited over the line. It was a final act of devotion, a last gift for a man who had been more than a friend, more than a mentor—he had bridged worlds, if only for a fleeting moment. Then, we returned to the shed.
Olivia’s hand brushed against mine as she took the paper. Her voice was soft, trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, as she read the prayer aloud.
“Grandfather Great Spirit, all over the world, the faces of living things are alike. With tenderness, they have come up out of the ground. Look upon your children with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the quiet day.”
Once a place of creation and dreams, the shed now held Lee’s silent form like a sacred sanctuary. The thin veil between worlds seemed to quiver with each word, the air thick with reverence and loss.
“Teach them to walk the soft earth as relatives to all that live,” Olivia read, her voice catching as tears welled in her eyes.
I knelt beside Lee, tracing the lines of his weathered hands—hands that had shaped so much and taught and guided. My voice cracked as I whispered, “May you find peace in the Great Spirit’s arms.” The rest of Talia’s prayer stayed lodged in my throat, unspoken yet deeply felt.
Olivia leaned closer, her breath mingling with mine, bringing a fragile warmth to the shed’s cool air. We sat together in silence, the prayer weaving around us like an invisible shroud, offering solace in the depth of our sorrow.
The soft cadence of Olivia’s voice filled the stillness as she continued reading from the prayer. Each syllable was like a brushstroke, painting a vision of serenity—a place untouched by the grief that weighed so heavily upon us.
In the silence that followed, it felt as though Lee’s spirit stirred, preparing to embark on its final journey. The air vibrated faintly, charged with the energy of his unspoken dreams and unfinished stories. I closed my eyes, granting myself a moment to escape the cruel certainty of death.
“May your journey be swift and your spirit soar,” I whispered. Behind my closed lids, I imagined Lee’s essence rising, weightless as the eagle’s feathers that had circled overhead, ascending into an endless expanse of sky.
Tears glistened in Olivia’s eyes, though her gaze remained fixed on the unseen horizon. Perhaps she, too, envisioned Lee’s ascent, his spirit finding freedom beyond the boundaries of this mortal world. In that shared silence, there was a beauty—a wordless understanding that transcended speech.
Marcellious, who had known only the sharp sting of loss until now, drew a shuddering breath. His hand found mine, trembling yet firm, and we formed a circle of solidarity around Lee. United in our hope for his peaceful passage, we became anchors for one another.
The world outside the shed continued its indifferent spin, but within these walls, time stood still, reverent and unmoving, honoring the soul prepared to take flight from earthly bonds to the boundless skies.
The words slipped from my lips like a gentle stream. “In the land of the ancestors, forevermore.”
As Malik quietly led the children home, Olivia and Emily settled on either side of Lee’s body, their grief etched into their faces. They were statues of sorrow, unmoving save for the occasional tremble of a suppressed sob or the quiet trail of a tear they could not wipe away in time. Like the prayer itself, their stillness was a testament to love—a love that transcended the finality of death.
Marcellious had sunk to his knees beside me, his body shuddering with sobs that reverberated off the wooden walls of the shed. I placed a hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort could be found in the warmth of human touch—a fragile connection in the vast emptiness of grief.
“Grandfather Great Spirit,” I began, my voice steadying as I recited the ancient prayer, “look upon your children with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the day of quiet.”
We passed Lee’s worn, leather-bound book of quotes between us, reading its cherished words as though each was a sacred offering. I turned to a page marked with Lee’s hand, the underlined text of journeys through nature and the lessons it imparted. These were words he had lived by; now, they became the words we used to guide him forward.
As the hours stretched, the shed’s light grew dim, shadows lengthening across Lee’s carvings and dreamcatchers. They seemed to stand vigil with us, silent sentinels honoring the man who had given them form.
“May you find peace in the Great Spirit’s arms,” I whispered into the gathering dusk, the weight of the book grounding me to this moment even as Lee’s spirit journeyed to a place beyond our reach.
“Where there is no pain, no fear, no harm,” Olivia murmured, her hand seeking mine. She squeezed it with a quiet strength—born not from defiance but love and shared resilience.
“May your journey be swift and your spirit soar,” Marcellious said, his voice cracking yet imbued with a fragile acceptance that began to thread through his grief.
“In the land of the ancestors, forevermore.” We repeated the words together, their rhythm becoming a mantra, binding us in unity. We continued reciting the poems, our voices steady and reverent, until those who would help us carry Lee to his final resting place arrived.
The stillness settled over us like a gentle fog, and I felt the soft cadence of Olivia’s breathing begin to align with mine. Our hearts beat in quiet harmony as we sat adrift on the sea of sorrow, suspended between the world of the living and the echoes of the spirit realm.
When dawn brushed the horizon with its golden hues, Talia arrived. She was flanked by two others whose faces bore the wear of a night spent in solemn vigil. Two teenage girls emerged from their vehicle, their youthful expressions tempered by grief. They moved with purpose, their footsteps respectful upon the earth that cradled generations of memory.
One of the girls spoke first, her voice steady yet gentle. “Where are the children? We’re here to watch them while you attend the burial proceedings.”
The other girl offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’re great with kids. We’ve got more cousins than we can count.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes swollen and red from hours of crying. “Thank you so much.”
I guided them to Jack’s house, where they could keep the children safe and comforted. Meanwhile, Talia, Olivia, and I turned toward the shed, joined by the other woman—Maya. I had only just learned her name, spoken in a hushed breath amid the chaos. The door creaked open, a solemn whisper in anticipation of what was to come.
Talia, Maya, and Olivia began the sacred rituals in the soft morning light. They washed Lee with water drawn fresh from the brook that whispered gently past the yard, its song a quiet lullaby for the departed. Each movement was deliberate, filled with care and devotion, as they prepared him for his journey.
They dressed Lee in traditional Sioux clothing, the intricate patterns woven into the fabric speaking of his heritage, his identity, and the stories that had shaped him. Every fold, every stitch seemed to hum with the echoes of a life lived with purpose. Carefully, they placed Lee’s most treasured belongings by his side. His prayer pipe, its surface worn smooth from years of use, rested against him—a companion for his voyage into the afterlife. It was a poignant reminder of his connection to the spiritual and the eternal.
As the smudging ceremony began, the air grew thick with the earthy scent of burning sage. Spirals of smoke rose, weaving toward the rafters, carrying prayers in the Lakota tongue to the heavens. The rhythmic cadence of drums joined the sacred song; each beat resonated like the earth’s heartbeat.
My chest tightened with emotion, my soul aching at the moment’s beauty. There was a quiet, profound love in how Talia and her companions honored Lee, each gesture a testament to his place among us and passage to the next realm.
“Roman,” Marcellious murmured beside me, his voice heavy with grief. His eyes glistened as he looked toward me, seeking strength amidst the overwhelming sorrow.
I clasped his shoulder, offering what little comfort I could as the women wrapped Lee’s body with organic cloth, cocooning him in the fabric of the natural world.
“Come,” Talia said softly, her voice steady and reverent. She beckoned us back to the circle where others had gathered to pay homage to Lee. “We must prepare for the journey.”
I rejoined the vigil with a heart weighed down yet full of quiet wonder.
Lee’s body, swathed in the soft fabric, was carefully placed in the back of his battered old truck. The scent of sage still lingered, a fragrant reminder of the prayers whispered in the shed. The silence enveloping us was heavy, broken only by the occasional wail of mourning carried on the breeze.
“I can drive,” Olivia offered, her tone calm, though I could see the turmoil churning behind her eyes. “I’ve done it plenty in this century.”
“No way,” I replied, my gaze set firmly on the horizon where the Black Hills loomed, waiting for us. “I’m driving.”
“You, the guy whose transportation skills are best on horseback?” she countered, her eyebrow arching.
“I learned how to drive when I was here before,” I said firmly, leaving no room for further argument. The tight press of her lips told me she wasn’t convinced but chose to relent.
Nearby, Malik leaned casually against Talia’s van, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll ride with the others in the van,” he said, gesturing with exaggerated caution. “Not risking my life with you, brother.”
He guffawed, waving his hand over his head as he sauntered off. The sound of his laughter lingered for a moment, a fleeting contrast against the somber backdrop before fading into the night.
I climbed behind the wheel, gripping it with confidence and trepidation. The key turned with a loud grind, and the vehicle roared to life. The raw power of the engine thrummed beneath me, unfamiliar and unruly. The truck lurched forward, weaving erratically as I wrestled with its movements.
“Roman!” Olivia yelled, clutching the door for balance. “You’ll shake Lee to pieces if you keep driving like this!”
Chastened, I eased off the accelerator, my knuckles whitening as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Slowly, I coaxed the vehicle into a smoother rhythm, balancing our speed with the solemn respect owed to the precious cargo we carried.
The road ahead stretched endlessly, unfurling like a ribbon disappearing into the horizon. Each mile brought us closer to the sacred ground, and each stop we made served as a somber reminder of the reality awaiting us at the journey’s end. Talia’s van led the way, a quiet guide through a landscape that grew increasingly foreign and reverent as we neared our destination.
“Google Maps won’t help you here,” Talia had warned before we set out. “It cannot speak the way. This is sacred ground.”
“Google Maps?” I murmured to myself during one of our brief stops. Pulling Olivia aside, I asked quietly, “What is this... Google Maps? I’ve used maps before, but they were made of paper or leather. They didn’t talk to me.”
Despite the heaviness of our mission, Olivia laughed—a light, unexpected sound that pierced through the solemnity.
“Oh, Roman,” she said with a gentle smile. “Google Maps is an app. It’s like a map that’s alive—it talks to you, gives you directions.”
“An… app?” I repeated, the words strange and unfamiliar on my tongue.
“Yep, it’s on a phone or a computer,” she explained. “But it doesn’t know everything, especially not the things that matter most.”
Her words lingered in my mind as we climbed into the truck. I marveled at the layers of this world—how technology could bridge distances and connect people yet fail to guide them along paths steeped in spirit and history. With every mile beneath us, I was reminded that some journeys couldn’t be mapped by devices or satellites. They required more than a physical guide—they demanded reverence, remembrance, and the wisdom of those who understood the sacred ways.
When we finally arrived at the small dwelling marking the end of our road journey, fatigue settled over me like a heavy cloak. The engine’s steady hum fell silent as I turned off the ignition, leaving only the soft rustling of the wind through the surrounding trees. Olivia stepped out first, stretching as Malik emerged from Talia’s van. His gaze met mine, filled with concern and quiet determination.
“Roman,” he said, pulling me aside while the others gathered their bearings, “I’m heading back with you after the burial. They’ll stay here and return in a few days.”
He gestured toward Marcellious and Emily, who spoke softly a few feet away. “Marcellious wants to stay with the Sioux for a while. And let’s be honest—there’s no way I’m letting you drive again. Watching you in the rearview mirror was like watching a drunken fool navigate a minefield.”
Olivia stifled a laugh, “Good call.”
I couldn’t argue. My earlier driving had been more a battle with the truck than a smooth journey, and Lee’s body had endured more jostling than I cared to admit. Nodding, I placed a hand on Malik’s shoulder, silently thanking him for looking out for all of us.
We joined the elders who had gathered to receive us. Their faces, weathered and serene, carried an air of solemnity and grace. I felt a grounding sense of purpose settle over me in their presence. Together, with careful reverence, we lifted Lee’s body from the bed of the truck. The weight of our collective grief was as tangible as the physical burden we carried on our shoulders.
The ceremony began under the canopy of trees in a clearing touched by sunlight and shadow. The rustling of leaves and the whispers of the wind wove through the air like a sacred hymn. We laid Lee’s body upon an animal hide draped over a sturdy litter, the frame lashed together with sinew and adorned with intricate beadwork and feathers. Each detail reflected respect and artistry, cradling Lee’s form as if it were part of nature.
With steady, practiced hands, the elders wrapped Lee in soft leather adorned with intricate symbols of spiritual significance. Their murmured prayers, ancient and melodic, carried the weight of countless generations. Each sacred word, spoken in the Lakota tongue, became a bridge between worlds, guiding Lee’s spirit on its journey to the afterlife.
As they worked, the air seemed to hum with reverence. The elders infused the ritual with the essence of their beliefs, their hearts heavy yet unwavering in their sacred duty. The scent of sage and sweetgrass lingered, their smoke rising in soft spirals, purifying the space and offering blessings for Lee’s passage into the unknown.
When the preparations were complete, the community gathered around the litter. Each of us took our designated position, muscles taut as we lifted the sturdy frame bearing Lee’s body. The weight pressed down on us, but the strength of our determination carried us forward. The litter swayed gently with each step, like a vessel gliding over calm waters. The sun beat down on our backs, its warmth merging with the heat of our exertion.
The elders led us on foot toward Wak?á?heya Há?ska—Sacred Heights—a place of profound peace and ancient wisdom. Ponderosa pines stood tall and regal, their branches swaying as if whispering secrets of the ages. Weathered rock formations towered above us like sentinels, while the ground beneath our feet was soft with grass and speckled with wildflowers in vibrant hues. With each breath, the fragrant air carried a quiet solace, mingling with Lee’s body’s delicate, earthy scent—a blend of wildflowers and fresh grass that seemed to honor his final journey.
I glanced at Marcellious, his face a mask of sorrow. Yet, though grief weighed heavily upon him, his steps remained resolute. Beside him, Malik walked with quiet determination, his eyes fixed straight ahead as if seeking strength in the path before us.
Here, amidst the elements, we weren’t just burying a friend. We were returning him to the land that had shaped him, a land that knew neither betrayal nor malice—only the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
As we approached Wak?á?heya Há?ska, a wooden archway rose before us, its surface carved with intricate Sioux symbols. The craftsmanship commanded reverence, a silent reminder of the sacred ground we now entered. Smooth river stones guided our path, leading us past towering totem poles and carved faces of ancestors who watched over this hallowed place. We laid Lee’s body beside the prepared burial site, the leather wrapping around him snug as if cradling him one final time. The elders stood beside us, their presence grounding and solemn. Malik, Marcellious, and I joined them, our grief woven with the silent acceptance of this inevitable farewell.
Above us, an eagle soared across the sky, its wings slicing through the heavens with a graceful arc. It circled once, then twice, then thrice. Each pass felt like a benediction, a celestial sign of Lee’s soul ascending. My eyes followed the eagle as it climbed higher, becoming a speck against the vast expanse of blue—a part of something infinite, just as Lee was now.
The Spirit Tree stood at the circle’s edge, its ancient, gnarled limbs stretching skyward. Ribbons and prayer ties adorned its branches, fluttering in the breeze. Each strip of fabric carried a hope, a wish, or a memory offered up to the ancestors who listened from beyond the veil of time. The tree stood as a witness to our sorrow and reverence, a living monument to the connection between earth and sky, the living and the departed.
Olivia stepped beside me, her presence a quiet balm to the ache gripping my heart. Together, we turned to face the beginning of the ceremony, united in purpose and bound by love—not just for each other, but for the man who had touched our lives in ways words could scarcely convey.
In the profound stillness of that sacred place, surrounded by the spirits of those who had walked before us, we prepared to say farewell.
A male elder’s voice broke the silence, resonant and clear, carrying the weight of many winters. His words fell into the quiet like stones into a still pond, sending ripples through the gathered crowd. He recited the lines of an ancient poem, his tone imbued with reverence and wisdom. “Life is but a path we walk, a journey where we learn and talk.”
I stood there, my hand clasped tightly in Olivia’s. The roughness of her palm met mine, her grip trembling ever so slightly—a reflection of the unsteady rhythm of my own heart. The warmth between our hands seemed to defy the chill of loss that hung like a shroud over us all.
As the elder’s words carried on the breeze, each one weighed heavily on me. Lee’s life had been well-walked, marked by profound love and selfless sacrifice. Now, that path had ended, leaving only echoes in the wind and whispers among the leaves. Those memories would remain forever etched in my mind, a testament to a life lived with purpose and a heart that had shaped ours.
Beside me, Olivia cried quietly, her shoulders trembling as silent tears carved paths down her cheeks. Her grief was raw, but I saw an unspoken promise—a vow to honor Lee’s courage and integrity in the days ahead to carry his legacy forward.
The elder’s voice rose above us, unwavering and steady, a beacon steeped in tradition. The scent of pine and sage swirled around us as sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows over Lee’s still form. “And now, you walk into the light,” he intoned.
The phrase echoed against the hills, reverberating like a sacred whisper, promising freedom from the burdens of mortality. I closed my eyes and could almost see Lee—our friend, our mentor—stepping beyond the veil, his stride confident, his spirit unbound, his heart at peace.
The elder bowed his head, and the mourners followed, each offering a collective gesture of respect to the timeless rhythm of life and death.
The circle tightened around the grave as the elders stepped forward. Their voices rose in song, weaving a melody as ancient as the hills. The haunting tones danced with the rustling leaves and soared into the endless sky, a hymn calling out to the Great Spirit.
“ Tankashila Wakan Tanka, taku wicahpi kin yuhapi kte ,” beseeching the Creator to receive Lee’s soul. The words wrapped around us, steeping the air with reverence and connection.
Marcellious clutched a weathered photograph of Lee laughing beside a roaring campfire. His hand trembled as he placed it atop Lee’s chest, his expression blending sorrow and gratitude. Olivia stepped forward next, her eyes rimmed red but shining with quiet resolve. She carried a dreamcatcher that Lee had crafted—a web of sinew and beads meant to snare nightmares and let only the sweetest dreams pass through. She gently laid it on his abdomen, a final gift from her heart to his. One by one, we stepped forward to offer our tributes. A beaded necklace woven with care—a smooth river stone, polished by the flow of time. A hawk’s feather as a symbol of guidance and protection. Each item held meaning, a fragment of our love for Lee.
Marcellious’ voice broke the silence. “Lee was more than a friend,” he said, his words thick with emotion. “He was my best friend and my father. He taught us about life, respect for all beings, and the courage to stand up for what’s right.”
My throat tightened as I stepped forward, my voice emerging raggedly. “Lee was more than just a fighter to me. He taught me honor and integrity and, above all, led me to my wife. He stood by us through everything, but now we must say goodbye and lay him to rest.” Beside me, Olivia nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. I turned to her and whispered, “Your turn.” She took a deep breath, her voice steady and unwavering.
“Lee was not only my mentor but my best friend,” she said, her words carrying the strength of conviction. “He showed me how to survive in this harsh world and lifted me when I hit rock bottom. His soul will live through us, and I promise to avenge his.”
A ripple of nods and murmured assent passed through the crowd. One by one, others stepped forward, their words weaving Lee’s essence into the community’s collective memory.
“His laughter was like thunder rolling over the plains,” someone called out.
“His hands could soothe the most troubled souls,” another added.
I listened, my heart swelling with pride and aching with loss. Each story painted a vivid portrait of a man who had lived fully, loved deeply, and left an indelible mark on all our lives.
As the ceremony neared its end, the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting us in a warm, golden glow. The elders gathered for a final prayer, their voices a soft murmur carried on the breeze.
“Mitákuye Oyás’i?,” they intoned in unison. “We are all related.”
Above us, an eagle appeared—perhaps the same as before—soaring high and solitary. It circled once, a silent witness to our grief, before vanishing into the vast expanse of the sky.
At that moment, I felt a profound connection that transcended grief and anger. It was a reminder that life, like the eagle’s flight, was a series of countless beginnings and endings, each leading to the next in an unbroken cycle.
At last, the elders lowered Lee’s body into the earth’s embrace. We stood together, a silent congregation bound by shared sorrow and reverence, watching as our beloved friend was laid to rest.
“Travel well, my friend,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the whispering wind.
The earth received each shovelful of dirt with a soft murmur, a tender sound that seemed to beckon Lee to his final rest. As the grave filled, voices rose in song—a tapestry of sound woven from sorrow and solemn joy. The melodies carried the essence of the plains, speaking of the wind, the sun, and the enduring heartbeat of the land.
The final act was almost intimate. Together, we covered Lee with the earth, tucking him in as gently as one might lay a child to sleep. The soil seemed to cradle him, welcoming him back as one of its own.
As dusk painted the sky in deep purples and oranges, the scent of roasted meats and wild herbs filled the air. Fires crackled in the twilight, and the community gathered around them for a feast in Lee’s honor. Stories flowed freely, laughter mingling with tears as we shared tales of his courage, wisdom, and the love he had sown among his people.
I sat close to Olivia, her presence grounding me amid the swell of emotions. We ate, we listened, and when our turn came, we offered our memories of Lee—the mentor, the warrior, the brother of our hearts.
“His spirit will guide us,” Olivia said, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “Just as it always has.”
I nodded, my resolve hardening with each passing moment. I would not let his death be in vain. Salvatore, Mathias, and Alina—they would answer for what they had done.
“Lee believed in balance,” I told her, my resolve hardening like the ground that now held him. “And balance will be restored.”
The feast continued into the night, celebrating a life that had touched so many. Yet as the stars began to emerge, the overwhelming emptiness left by Lee’s absence pressed heavily on my chest one by one. But alongside the ache, a searing fire burned deep within me, unyielding and unrelenting. It was the fire of vengeance—a promise to see Alina and her vile allies answer for their heinous crimes. No matter the cost, justice would prevail.