Chapter 57
J A N E
K athleen and I both wear red dresses as people in Skull’s Row do when attending a funeral. We wait inside the mess hall of Soren’s manor, the two of us sitting openly without any guards near us, like we’re somewhere safe .
Members of Death’s Wing have been slowly arriving to the gates of Snake’s Crest, half of them arriving alone while the others come with nearly a full armada that’s made camp outside the battlements. I even watched as one rode in a horse much like Phantom, the members shrouded in a cloak as thick vambraces peaked through while they gripped the reins.
Soren and the rest of Death’s Wing sit at what can only be described as his throne, no doubt reminiscing on old memories. It’s a fascinating group of men and women who are all wearing leathers, vests, and overall outfits custom made, and so many tattoos of all kinds. One woman even has her entire neck inked out, along with her lips.
Kathleen grabs the pitcher of ale next to us and pours some, the drink foaming at the top of my mug. “So, what are the tattoos for?” she asks. “The ones she’s getting right now?”
I take a sip of the hoppy goodness, the alcohol burning down my throat even if it’s weak ale. “Soren told me that it’s a special ink that’s temporary but lasts for the ceremony until Anya is burned. It connects the lines on her back. The outer two stripes will be finished down the backside of her legs, and the middle breaks off into two and stretches back up, then down the back of her arms. Apparently, they’ll then draw elaborate works to depict what she’s accomplished in her life.”
Kathleen sips on her ale and looks at me as if she has just been served delicious gossip. “Wait, will she be exposed to see them? Lay her ass naked on the pyre? She didn’t seem like that kind of person.”
A chuckle rolls out of me as I shake my head. “Anya doesn’t seem like the kind that would appreciate that.” We both share a cheeky grin with the other before I add, “Soren said it’s there for ceremony, hidden but present, just like their loyalty to each other is. It’s all about formality and is supposed to honor the soul for its sacrifices. And then apparently they get the wings of a blood hawk—those giant birds in the Huntswoods—and put them on either side of her while she’s dressed in whatever she chose while still alive.”
Her green eyes soften. “What did she choose?” she asks with earnest. “I would ask Bones, but I think herdeath is hitting him hard. He’s been enjoying talking about my time while we were apart, not really his.”
“I don’t know,” I say, finding it interesting that both Bones and I share the same reaction to what happened to us all. I’m honestly eager to know what Anya chose myself, aware of how I only met the smallest glimpse of who she actually was. I barely knew her, and even I feel robbed in her early death.
She was just starting to get interesting.
A sad smile comes to my lips. I glance up Soren, the snake crest hanging above him as he listens intently with his Death’s Wing troupe before flashing his gaze my way. I’ll never get tired of that, I don’t think. I could be seventy years old and he nearly eighty, and I know the hairs on my arms will still rise every time.
I return my attention back to Kathleen, not wanting to distract him. “What was it like to see Bones when he came for you?”
“I’ve never been so happy to see a madman in my life,” she says through a sigh. “Hear me out—he’s a sweetheart. A big, violent sweetheart. I mean, Jane, I’m pretty confident if I went to kill the bastard, he’d let me.”
Fine, I guess I owe it to toad face to entertain speaking to him more, if he means that much to Kathleen. And for helping me.
“Well, it’s good he made sure you were safe,” I say. “It gave me a big peace of mind while all that shit was happening.”
She lightly slaps her hand on the table. “I was so useless! That still makes me so mad . But, I guess I’m glad I wasn’t in the way.” She purses her lips. “Anyway… is it alright to ask what Bones was like? When fighting?”
I can’t help but laugh at her wanting to see that side of him. “I can’t tell you much about him, honestly. Well, he did train me, a little bit. But I never got to see him fight much. I just know wherever he was, people were dead .”
She grins, pressing her palm against her cheek as she rests her elbow on the table. “It’s alright. I can’t help it. Something about watching him fight really does it for me.” She looks off slightly. “Maybe I should challenge him to a duel…”
I laugh hard, even covering my mouth, to which she finally joins in before we both settle into a silence that I’m still trying to understand. It’s like what happened has created a divide of sorts, but not in a negative way… just distance.Hopefully my saga is damn near over, and I can just enjoy Soren for the years to come. Help him find his sister, too.
As I stare at the blonde who looks off like she’s thinking deeply of something, an idea strikes me—what will Kathleen do? Who will she become? “What do you want to do, Kathleen?”
She looks at me like she’s never been properly asked that question. “What do you mean?”
Sipping more of the ale, I sigh before explaining, “We spent so much time worrying about me when in Coalfell. It’s time to focus on you, now that your oath to my father is done.”
Her green eyes widen as she blinks rapidly, the wit that always hovers behind her gaze diminishing as something somber replaces it. Looking up, her jaw flexes as she seems to really consider the question. “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that.”
I frown. “Not even by Bones?”
She smiles, as if the mere thought of him lights up her misery. “There’s been too much turmoil and fighting, I think.” She looks at me seriously; then she seems inspired by something. “You know, the first thing that comes to mind is I’d love to return to Skull’s Row. Help women out who were like me and nearly sold. Maybe a safe house, kind of like what Rosmertta had, but where they don’t have to become petals if they don’t want; not everyone is meant for that life. Somewhere with healers, too. Don’t know how we’ll afford it, but I’d love to tackle that challenge.”
“Kathleen, that is an excellent idea,” I reply, honing in on the possibilities. “Maybe once everything is truly calm again. I’d support you wholeheartedly in that.”
The bell tolls when it’s time to attend the funeral, the sun just beginning to set as its intensity dwindles. We step outside, with Kathleen and I together as Soren moves among those belonging in Death’s Wing. He dons his red leathers just like when I first saw him all the way back in Coalfell.
Walking along the trails to the beach, we’re finally back near the ocean, a slight breeze toying with my dress. Where the sand is hardened by the ocean, a giant wooden pyre stands with a flat top and temporary stairs.
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, long after their 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, any moment…
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 I need him. 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 experience what 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 knows exactly how 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.
They all begin 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 know that’s how 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.