Flare

t w e n t y

a/n: thanks to everyone that's stuck with the story so far! i have lots more written and i've actually started writing Thane, the second book in (what i plan will be) the trilogy! comment if you've enjoyed reading so far or if you want me to post Thane after this one is concluded 😊

"It's good that you've managed to preserve his body. I thought he died in a fire," Thane said. The pair's eyes were trained on the lifeless boy in front of them, with red hair and green eyes and freckles dotting his cheeks, just like his twin sister.
"He drowned," Flare said, trying to muster up a sarcastic laugh although she was choking back tears. "In a bathtub." Thane heard the sadness in her voice, though, and he reached over to squeeze her hand tightly. She released a shaky breath she didn't know she had been holding and just let Thane's steadiness comfort her, let his energy run through his strong grip into her.
"This is where he died, right?" Thane asked, looking around. Flare nodded. Her aunt's new house, not having finished construction, was just wooden bones, leaving their seance exposed to the night sky above.
"Yeah," Flare said.
"Okay," Thane said. A tear rolled down Flare's cheek, and he wiped it away gently. "Hey, it's okay. Do you see that star right there?"
"Yeah," Flare followed his gaze to find a bright white star in the middle of the star-freckled sky. "It's pretty."
"When that star reaches there..." Thane moved his arm about an inch to the right. "Then we can start."
"Tell me again why we have to wait."
"Necromancers harness their power from the night, specifically from what we call the Witching Hour. That's when the star I showed you, the star of Boakl, is in the middle of the sky. It's possible to do it during the day, but I'm not that experienced, so it's easiest at night. Speaking of which," Thane said softly. "I'm not that skilled. I learned some stuff from my dad, but sometimes it works, sometimes not. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen, and we can't do much about it because this isn't a game and it's certainly not something to tamper with. But I'll try my best."
"Okay," Flare said. "Thank you."

***

"Go on, Flare," Thane whispered. He had just completed a series of ritual spells, or chants, or whatever - Flare wasn't really sure what to call them - and it was finally her turn to speak. Right from the moment Thane started the seance to the moment he told Flare to start talking, there was this sanctimonious, almost holy, atmosphere around them. But when he said Flare could go on, she felt something warm and gentle. She no longer felt like she was intruding on something non-secular. She felt like she was meant to be there.
"Ash," Flare called out into the brisk night air. "Are you there?"
Moments passed with no sign, and Thane apparently sensed that Flare was growing restless.
"You'll know when it happens," he said, reaching over to grab her hand. "Be patient."
Flare nodded and tried again. "Ash, are you here with us?"
Time crawled on slowly, with every second seeming like an eternity in which Flare found no avail. Finally, Thane drew his hand away from hers and cleared his throat.
"Can you hear him? If not, I can try some other rituals," Thane offered.
"Wait, you can hear him?" Flare found her eyes welling up with tears. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.
"It's only because I'm a necromancer. It's nothing you did," he assured her quickly. "If I can give you some advice, don't try too hard. Keep breathing. Trust. Let go of your senses. Access that plane between this world and his, don't try to make either of you go all the way. He'll find you. I promise. If you want to, you can think of your happiest memories with him. It helps sometimes."
Flare watched as the necromancer placed his hands on her brother and bowed his head, muttering something with furrowed brows. Her head was so full, how did Thane expect her to clear it? She had so many questions, so many things she never got to say. So many things she needed to say.
And somewhere among the jumble of questions, something emerged that made the doubt all stop. A foggy memory appeared as she closed her eyes, a memory tinged with the smell of ocean and sand grinding under her feet. A sea near their house, the waves cerulean blue. Two kids giving a high five to the sun, their small hands blistered and red. Dreams, still tangible, dressed up all pretty, given a name and promptly set ablaze. Two little seashell sweethearts, sitting on the spine of a stone, weathered by the wheezing of sea-salty wind through cracked brick and flowing fabric.
Flare found love in that sun-soaked sea, in the tide lapping against golden sands without the reward of taste. Yet, they kept going. It all kept going.
It was as if someone flicked a switch. All she heard was static in her mind, an eerily peaceful sound. She closed her eyes and let it take her, like the waves of an ocean.