Radicle (Terminal trilogy #2, can stand alone)

22: Ritual

 Funerals were a complex, and almost daily event. Of course, normally when there was one death, there were many others. So most funerals were mass ones.

This was not. I knew so because there were only four angels waiting on the dirt floor of the Tower- and as soon as I saw Lakoi's body, I knew I was to be the fifth. There were always five angels whose role was that of the friend- they spoke good of the deceased, and stood in a careful shape. The body lay in the center, atop branches and oil.

And Victory and Cassiel danced. That was their role. Funeral dancers and guides for the dead- but of course, the dead didn't have far to travel. They only had to climb up the spirals of the Tower until they found Michael. He'd watch them from there.

The Brothers were already waiting above, no doubt, as it was presumably them who rang the bell for assembly. Someone I didn't recognize pulled me forward.

"Nichael? You're up."

I had done this before, but I honestly didn't know Lakoi. It was going to be hard to bullshit an eulogy. But I guess it was going to be a lot like speechwriting. And there were four others speaking besides me. No one was really judging.

Except Michael. He was- he had- uh. Well. It was hard to try and approach this while keeping both my loyalty and scrutiny intact. Did Michael just kill Lakoi as a way to stir fear in me and reinstall a sense of community by exposing me to a traditional funeral? Most certainly. Did that effect my opinion of him?

Well. It definitely wasn't a surprise.

I moved out onto the stage and took my spot. It had long been worn into the half-dirt of the tower floor. Lakoi's body, the body, was already waiting.

Angels were still gathering on the unsound levels above. Straight pillars broke the railing-less observation floors into small windows that heads peered down from. We had done this many, many times. We were good at filing in.

Cassiel and Victory came out, and the room went silent. Gazes were averted until they were in place, facing each other from either side of the body. They wore a special outfit for the occasion, black and white cloth tied sparingly around their body, with garnishes of gold and silver jewelry. Each had a crown of white and black lilies. But of course, lilies didn't grow black, so we just rubbed ash on white ones until they looked close enough.

Music was provided from both a nearby band of angels, and from the Brothers themselves. But first there was silence. The girls knelt on either side of the body. They were to be opposites the entire ceremony. They even looked it on a physical level, what with Victory's great black hair compared to the mangled sunlight of Cassiel's.

They drew their blades. This was certainly the only time Victory got to wield one, but the sheer repetition of the event had granted her sure and steady hands. They pierced into the veins with needle-like blades. Then, expertly, they drew the tip of the needle-blade along the veins like a marker. They were exact, cutting the veins cleanly open. Blood poured out, and with their other hands, the girls collected as much as they could into a neat little ceramic bottle. Later, the body's name would be inscribed on it.

The fire was then lit with two matches, dropped at the same time by the girls. Then they'd leap back and begin their dance, frantically jumping around the flames. They'd run close and duck over the fire, and then flee back to the wall. They'd jump and spin around like they were the ones on fire. And their faces were always lifeless and dull. Almost bored.

Their bare feet dug and kicked at the soil, stomping it down and digging it apart with leaps like heartbeats. Their hair- never tied or fastened- followed them like a ghost trail. This close to them, I could easy see the sweat gleam on their skin, never having enough time to bead between movements.

The music started after the fifth circle around the fire. Violin, flute, percussion- they all came together for an upbeat sort of rhapsody that was meant to get caught in the ears but was illegal to sing. The dancing slowed here, not by much. There was more jumping, that was certain.

The first eulogy was said by Michael, and it was usually about the same. But there were just enough differences that it felt very personable, especially as it rung down from above in a pleasing tenor. He told of the deceased's graceful heart and full soul, and his love of storytelling and moral keeping.

The people who spoke after that were friends, and they had more to say. A common sentiment seemed to be 'Why?' and when it came to me, all I could think about was that I knew the answer.

I kept my words short and generic. I was the fifth to speak. The least important. Angels did rank their friends, and it wasn't uncommon to know exactly where you stood in a relationship. Somewhere, in the stands above me, an angel was remembering Lakoi. And remembering that he was supposed to be the fifth closest.

The ceremony was concluded with another dance, this time one of ashes. The fire was extinguished by two pails of water. Then the girls would scoop up the ashes- of the logs, of course, the body never had enough time to fully crumble- and smeared them across their faces. Then they would come to each of us, and we would do the same.

The air smelled foul, of flesh and hair. The ashes were disgusting. But there was a divine presence throughout. Something about the extremity, perhaps, made it feel like it had to be sacred. Otherwise it'd just be worthless.