The Stone of Shadows

6. Home

The rain came down like stones, hitting hard against the courtyard where the funeral commenced. Before the funeral, the sun had been shining bright in the sky, casting its light upon the world. The blue sky did not hold a single white cloud. Upon the preparation of the body, the storm gathered, and the rain poured down. The rain drenched all parts of the castle. The spring flowers barely had time to blossom before the water poured. The black procession had their heads bent low as they carried the body to the sarcophagus. She was as beautiful as when she was alive, wearing the white dress she wore for that unholy Winter Solstice. Anointed with aromas that cloaked her deathly scents, she was placed in the tomb like a saint. The priest began to recite the eulogy.

Micheal stood on the balcony. He looked down at the procession. Anna was given such care. He didn't emote. His sister's pale corpse was nothing but an anomaly, something as fantastical as a mountain, or an eagle soaring into the sky. Such things for poets. He was no poet; he was a ruler, a man concerned with his success, his quest to acquire power. Below, there was only a corpse, lying under the rain as a priest praised her. "And in life, she not only showed care to her siblings, her mother, her father; her servants, her guests; princes, governors, and ministers. She cared for the meek, the tradesmen; those noble souls who have as many calluses as fruits in their basket. For her service in life, let Anna Gorova in death be known for her saintly actions, and let us pay alms to commemorate her honor. It was said by her once, that a woman has no need to earn honor. That she holds honor in her heart from birth to death. Let Anna be an example of this chivalry."

"What silliness," thought Michael. The rain poured harder while tears from his mother's eyes dripped down her dress. Malaikat was not there for her, forcing her to cling onto some obscure man. Michael didn't know the man, but didn't care to know him. "They're all lackeys anyway." Michael knew this man would suffer. To hold the wife of Malaikat in such a way meant a sudden disappearance. "And good riddance too. Only my father is worthy of my mother. Only my father is worthy of anything in this world, and I am his son..."

His trail of thought was interrupted by Babastian, someone he did recognize amongst the flux of servants. The Venorian was tired, saddened by the funeral. He stood behind Michael, his hands folded. "Aren't you going to join the funeral, sir?"

"I hate the rain," said Michael, not turning to Babastian.

"I remember," said Babastian, "when you were small, it was a hassle trying to get you back into the castle when the tempest started. You either stomped in the mud, or spun around like a maple seed launched from the twist of your fingers... How can it be that you've grown out of it?"

"I just did," said Michael. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"But there's something else wrong. You can't try to convince me that you aren't saddened by Anna's death."

"I cried my tears!" snapped Michael. "And I got over it like any man should!"

"There isn't any need to boast, Michael," said Babastian. "Anna was your sister. You loved her, and she loved you too."

Michael stood like a wet cat. He wanted to escape this feeling, the feeling of grief. It was the despicable knowledge that a person, in the blink of the light, could vanish.

"She was patronizing," said Michael concealing his sorrow. "She treated me like a charity case."

"If you say so," sighed Babastian. "It is really too bad; all of winter was spent re-constructing the castle, granting reparations to those families wrongfully damaged... And to top it, your father never gave a proper funeral for your sister Alexandra..."

"She was a traitor," said Michael. "She's always been a thorn in my side since we were children."

"Don't say that! By Divines, she saved your sister Krosna from certain death! What sort of treachery is that?"