Chapter 18
G argoyles didn’t originate from this world.
Our kind came from the stars. From distant planets that were now cut off to us.
The oldest of our kind remembered their home and recalled the pilgrimage away from it when it died.
Back then, they called the death of a goyle the long sleep, and the funeral was a farewell into dreaming.
We’d adopted many of the earthly customs now, though, but the oldest of our kind remembered. At least that’s what Romi had told me.
My brother had taught me so much over the years, things I’d probably forgotten that would come back to me when the timing was right. Like now.
We stood in a circle surrounding a large platform that housed a plinth—its tip pointing at the sky and the base decorated with the effigies of grotesques.
Varsa’s stone body lay on the platform looking up at the sky.
They called it a farewell, not a funeral, and the whole process would take place out in the open, in the Meandering Garden—several beautifully kept gardens that were intersected by twin rivers that fed the lakes of Arcadia.
This part of the garden was called the Central Garden, and according to Shar, this was where all social events and important gatherings happened. Under sky and air.
Everyone wore dark colors, but every outfit had some silver in it, be it a cuff, a collar, or a scarf. Shar had loaned me a silver belt, and Palia and Ginia had silver scarves in their hair.
Palia had explained that silver was the color of mercury, which was considered a mutable yet connecting force, durable and transformative just like the gargoyle race.
A robed goyle slipped through the crowd and climbed onto the platform with Varsa.
I leaned closer to Palia. “Who’s that?”
“That’s the sleepsinger,” she whispered. “He has the power to release a goyle to eternal rest. There aren’t many of them in existence. Legend says that they are born as and when needed to maintain the cycle.”
A large gargoyle male I didn’t recognize broke away from the crowd and came to stand before the dais, hands clasped in front of him. Like several others, he was dressed in dark blue and silver, his shirt and pants loose enough to hang off his solid frame.
“Who is he?” Touron asked, his voice low.
“That’s Terinin Storm,” Orix replied. “The head of the Arcadian committee. Here in Arcadia, he is the law.”
“But he answers to the council,” Palia added.
“Why a Storm and not one of the five bloodlines?”
“Balance,” Palia replied. “The five have enough power. They weren’t even on the council until over a decade ago.”
“Ulrickson?”
“Yes,” Palia said. “My sire told me it was a shock to everyone, and there was some debate and friction with the other families when he was appointed.”
“Welcome, brothers and sisters,” Terinin said.
“Today we gather to say farewell to Varsa Orbrin, our brother of over a century. A male of great purpose and great resilience. He did not bow to the graynites when they bent his mind. He did not allow them to steal our secrets despite the cost to himself. Varsa was a true guardian. A true warrior, and today we gather to send him into the arms of the spirit, where he will sleep until it is once more his time to awaken.”
Terinin gave the sleepsinger a nod before stepping back into the circle.
The sleepsinger pressed his lips together, and a low, resonant hum filled the air. He tipped his head up, mouth parting to let lose a melody—an echoing light sound that made something inside me tug, drawing me to the precipice of a larger comprehension only to pull me away again.
As his voice rose, the timbre changed, becoming higher and higher until it was a whisper on the edge of my consciousness, slipping into a range that my ears couldn’t register.
On the dais, gray matter rose from Varsa’s body and dissipated into the air. He was disintegrating, his stone form breaking and rising until he was gone.
The sleepsinger dropped his chin and closed his eyes. “And so he shall rest. And so he shall find his way home. And so he shall return to us once more when the spirit permits.” He stepped down, and everyone began to move away.
“That’s it?” I looked across at Palia, who nodded sagely.
“That was…beautiful,” Derek said softly. “He will return one day? Reborn?”
“That’s the theory,” Sharniza said.
“I like that theory. It means…it means that nothing ever dies.”
My mind flashed back to my dream of Serath. It had felt so real. The way he’d looked at me, the things he’d said…I could almost believe he’d been reaching out to me from beyond, but the fact that we’d suddenly ended up in bed proved it was all a dream.
“You okay?” Curi asked me.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Ready to get out of here?”
The look on his face said he was more than ready to leave. “Yeah, let’s go.”
The gardens had emptied out, and the expanse of water that had been blocked off to me was now visible. I zeroed in on a bench, the wood painted red while the other two benches either side of it remained brown. My blood went cold.
“Cameron?” Curi said.
I tore my gaze from the bench. “I dreamed of this place. That bench…It was in my dream.”
“What? When?”
“Last night, I dreamed it and…Serath was there.”
“Is everything all right?” Orix joined us. “What are you looking at?”
“Cameron says she dreamed of this place last night,” Curi said. “That bench and Serath.”
“Maybe he told you about this place?” Orix suggested. “It was his favorite spot. His mother used to bring him here as a child.”
“There are no ducks…”
“What?”
“He said he used to feed the ducks, but there are no ducks here.”
“There haven’t been for some years,” Orix said. “Cameron…It was just a dream…”
“I’d believe that, but the bench is red. He never told me that the bench was red, so how come it was red in my dream?”