These Barren Lands

Chapter 8

My mother's funeral was, in all definitions of the word, normal.
They are solemn ceremonies—merfolk funerals.
We gathered at nautical twilight, when the sky was beginning to shift from its purples into its soft blacks, when stars were trying to stick their shiny heads above the velvet curtain of daylight. The fish had settled in to sleep; children had been told their bedtime stories. As both the sea and the land said their goodnights, a kingdom full of merfolk picked up their magicked torches, held tight to their spouses, and swam to the very edge of the Sailor's Trench.
Papa gathered all of his children, dried all of our tears, gave us all a kiss on the cheek, and told us how much he loved all of us. How proud he was of us for being so brave in these troubling times. How time would soften this pain—if we would let it.
And then, he took my hand and led us to the edge.
I never understood why he chose my hand to hold, but I was thankful. The days following the arrival of Mama's body felt like I was being sucked into an abyss. They passed in slow motion, and everything was impossibly heavy. The days were darker without her smile to light everything up. So when Papa took my hand, when he chose me to walk beside, the ocean brightened a tad.
I wasn't alone. Neither was he.
Papa and I always had each other.
The royal family brought up the tail end of the procession. It was an eel-shaped line of pale-blue torches all the way through the Vandyan darkness. Mama's favorite color created a path for her towards eternity. It helped her see the way, and I remember thinking, She would love this.
But she'd never see it because her body was wrapped in silk wrappings and laid on a litter of gold. Six royal guards carried the platform along the path, directly in front of Papa and I. My beautiful, charismatic, intelligent mother was nothing more than a shape on a table. Nothing more than an empty shell.
We weren't allowed to see her. Papa said the accident left her body in a horrible shape. I know now that it was because, after King Soren killed her, Mama's head couldn't be reconnected without the use of Divine magic. And death was one area the Divine couldn't interfere in. She could give life; She could take life away. She could heal wounds, conquer mighty storms, initiate tidal waves—but She could not bring my mother back.
That didn't stop me from wishing She could.
At the edge of the trench, the entirety of Vandya hovered, shrouded in darkness and veiled in ceremonial black. The edges of their shawls, pieces of clothing we really only brought out for funerals, were hastily embroidered in pale blue. The silk thread shimmered in the Divine light, making each merfolk look like a tiny star.
A galaxy, just for my mama. Exactly what she deserved.
Then, as we drew closer, I heard the singing. It was low, breathy, pushed through throats full of tears and longing. It was a mournful shanty, a story of immense loss. The multitude of voices all rising together couldn't lack harmony because it was just one big sound. I hummed it along with them and let myself cry, let myself miss her, let myself be sad.
And when I looked up, Papa was crying, too. His lips were moving in silent song; his eyes were glued on the covered figure of his wife. How it must have felt to lose the person you'd been promised to spend eternity with, a person who was matched to you by the Divine, a person who had meant everything to you. Even my pain felt shallow compared to his.
The guards carried Mama to the edge of the precipice and laid the platform down with caution and reverence. Then, they stepped back so that Papa could approach. Only then did he let go of my hand. I sank into the background with my siblings and watched.
The crowd sang as Papa fell onto the ground by her side and wept across Mama's body. They cried with him as he spoke his final goodbyes. They mourned with him as darkness fell over the ocean. I remember that it felt like the sun would never rise again. How could it, when Mama wasn't there to sing me awake?
Twilight ended, and night settled over all of us. One of the guards touched Papa's shoulder, and he rose from his position of grief. The mourners stopped their singing. It was time. The final goodbye.
"Queen Athalia," Papa said, quiet but I bet even the farthest corners of the ocean still craned their necks to listen. "My Thalie—there isn't a word in any language that can describe the loss Vandya feels. Forces of light and darkness mourn you, and we promise to remember and honor you until our kingdom is no more. We send you to eternal peace with immeasurable love and respect. Sleep, my love, and when we meet again, let it be daylight at last."
Then, he reached down, picked up Mama's body, and placed a lingering kiss on the shrouds covering her forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, and his shoulders trembled. A long minute passed until, finally, he swam over the edge of the trench and let her go.
Our people began to sing again, but their song was shattered by hundreds of soft wails. Everyone just watched as her body—silk wrappings and all—succumbed to the water's gravity and pressure. My beautiful Mama, the one who brought light to any room she entered, was swallowed by the darkness of rest and the trench.
Everything felt a little dimmer without her.
Including me.
In that moment, I thought to myself, Nothing could be harder than this. Nothing could hurt more than this. And Blessed Divine, I prayed I was right.