Darkness Girl: Trickster God

Chapter Eight: The Mysteries of Sorrow

It should have been raining. In her mind, Regan had always imagined that funerals happened in the pouring rain. It had never really occurred to her before today that the sheer weight of statistics meant that the majority happened in what would otherwise be considered pleasant weather. The funeral party was a little way away, walking down the white gravel path of the cemetery through the early morning mist. They'd got lucky with the fog at least; it was a sort of misery concession prize. 

She stood leaning against a tree, arms folded. She'd been there for two hours already. For the first hour, the tiny droplets of mist that formed a glittering layer on her clothes had been an example of the exquisite and delicate beauty of nature. Now she was just wet and cold. The fog soaked her clothes and dripped off her hair. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket in a futile attempt to regain some of the feeling in her fingers. She didn't know why she'd come, or what stopped her from leaving. 

She was far enough away that the people at the funeral were unlikely to see her, but there were other people walking through the cemetery who passed close by. One or two gave her disapproving looks when they saw the sword at her side, however none of them were brave enough to challenge her on it. If the sword wasn't enough to convince them to stay away, Regan's expression certainly was. 

Across the cemetery, Henry Mannering's family stopped beside a freshly dug grave. At this distance they looked like a flock of black birds. Regan considered moving closer, but the risk was too great. If she was honest with herself, even coming here was a mistake, but for some reason Mannering's death had left something behind in her. She felt like she owed him this. It was an odd sensation. There had been nothing particularly remarkable or noteworthy about his death. 

The ceremony was simple. There were speeches, but Regan was too far away to hear them, so instead she just watched and wondered. Some people were freely wiping away tears in an unashamed physical display of sorrow, while others seemed to be going out of their way to demonstrate their capacity to overcome by sitting ramrod straight and staring forwards with the steady gaze of a soldier on parade. 

She sensed a presence behind her and touched a hand to the hilt of her sword. 

'You've never gone to see them get buried before,' said Kessler. 

'I know.' 

In the distance, a boy in a black suit walked to the gravestone. He placed something on it then turned to the group of mourners. Regan guessed that it was Mannering's son. There was so much ceremony around death for other people.  

'Why now?' 

She turned to look at Kessler. Her pale face held its usual expression of impassive disconnection, but Regan could read the cold fury behind her eyes. 

'Why does it matter?' she demanded. 'I was curious.' 

Kessler ran a hand through her white hair. 

'Curious,' she said tersely. 'You were curious. Five-year-olds are curious.' 

'What the hell does it matter why I came here?' 

'I need to know you still have your edge. When killers start sobbing over their victims, it's time to quit.' 

'Do I look like I'm crying?' 

Kessler glared at her. Neither of them had raised their voices. To an outside observer it would have looked like the two girls were having a quiet conversation, but the atmosphere between them was frozen. 

'Why are you making such a big thing out of this?' asked Regan. 

'You let that infiltrator mark you and walk away alive.' 

Regan touched her cheek where the cut from Trevellian's knife had all but disappeared. 

'He was skilled,' she said coldly. 'Next time I'll cut him down.' 

'There shouldn't be a next time. When you draw your sword, your target dies.' 

Regan shrugged and turned back to the funeral, deliberately ignoring Kessler. It looked like it was over. The mourners were dispersing and starting the long walk out of the cemetery. The family stayed by the grave to nod and shake hands with people as they left. There was something forlorn about the way they just stood there accepting people's condolences; it was a passive acceptance that Regan found somehow annoying. She wanted to be alone right now more than anything. There were a few moments of tense silence before she heard Kessler's footsteps retreating away across the gravel. 

If she'd kept looking at Kessler, perhaps she would have seen the change in her eyes.