Sapphire Bones

Rites

Updated: May 9, 2019

Corvo

            The same chapel. The same ghoulish crowd. The same wood coffin adorned with emeralds and crystals that sparkled like twinkling fairies in the sunlight stretching through painted glass behind me. But instead of my father in that casket, my mother took his place. Hands settled on her chest, fingers twined together, nails painted dark green and squared off with a file by our pack mortician. She did a lovely job. My mother's hair spread about the satin pillow in soft waves, a clip in her swept bangs to keep them from falling in her face. Light pink lipstick and brown mascara, a touch recommended by Ethel. My mother's favorite gown, an emerald green silk with velvet on the sleeves, and a deep V-neck plunge all the way down to her waist. A long triangle of pale, ivory white skin flashed the crowd. And the amulet given to her by my father. A long gold chain, delicate links linked together, and an enormous green stone surrounded by diamonds. Princess cut. My mother used to cradle the amulet in her hands, the pads of her fingers ran across the surface of the stone to clear away any gathering dust.

The chapel on Emerald grounds was only ever used for two occasions: marriages and funerals. A granite statue of the Moon Goddess towered over any heads facing it, snuggled up behind the altar on its own lighted pedestal. Her arms reached above her head, and sweeping hair chiseled into the straight bundles that flew around her head as if a forever wind battled within the statue's existence. Draping long past her feet and down the attached pedestal, a silky-textured dress rippled from her bosom and beyond, cinched at the waist by a drape cord made from stone. Her image reached through every pack known to the Lycan community, although some strayed from her grace. Those, the unsanctioned packs, lived on the outskirts of society without reason and a guiding light for them to follow throughout their lives. They lived without law and order.

The people at my mother's funeral blended together in a blanket of black. Their clothing blurred into one cloud of dark fabric. Every one of them knew my mother as a powerful Luna, a friend, a motherly actor. She played a role in everyone's lives, even if just by saying hello on a daily basis. A beacon of light during a decade filled with darkness. My father's darkness. The illness that plagued my mother's life until he ousted her from the pack and swore I'd never see her again. But here we stood. Ethel beside me, her hand clasped in mine, and her other clutching the side of her pleated skirt to hold her emotions hostage. Damien, however, was nowhere to be seen. His absence rocked the growing crowd of black smocks in the chapel. Their whispers reached my ears and Ethel's. Her tears were large drops of salt that dripped off her chin. Murmurs of my parents' divorce, of the obvious ax driven in mine and my mother's relationship, and of my brother's absence.

"Have you spoken to him?" I murmured to Ethel next to me. I clearly meant our missing brother who, from what I knew, didn't inform anyone of his impending disappearance from the funeral of our mother.

"Not since yesterday," she replied, leaning in so she didn't have to raise her voice above the conversations out in the crowd. "You?"

I turned my attention back to the people for a moment. A few fingers pointed directly at us but most kept their hands to themselves. "No," I said after a few moments of quiet between us. "We can't wait for him either," I said. Ethel nodded and motioned for me to start. But despite her movements, I could hardly bear to step up to the microphone attached to the podium and speak out to a crowd of mourners about my dead mother. Two dead parents. One of them killed and the other-. Autopsies were pointless in my mother's case. Natural death was written with a fine point pen on the line next to 'Cause of Death'. Doctor's cursive, illegible to the naked eye but to my sister and me, we knew what it said. Parts of me hoped Damien woke up late, slept through his alarm, and was on his way as I stalled the procession. My mother's rites included having all her children present.