Weight of Worlds

A frantic stillness had taken the house. Darkness crested on the horizon, and the shadows grew too deep. Graywing and the storm locusts were gone, retired into the frame of Ranvir. The over-watch of their presence left a lingering sense on the wind. The road and forest weren’t being watched. Unseen things stalked the bushes and greens of Eriene’s surroundings.

His suit didn’t fit like it used to. Re-tailored after no longer needing to accommodate the wings, Pashar had them remove any insignia from the Sentinels as well. Unable to nail down the issue, Ranvir once more adjusted the collar. Close as if threatening to choke him, yet never touching his neck.

Kneeling in the bathroom, he tugged on a curl of Frija’s red hair. Pulling it behind her ear, he cursed inwardly as it bounced free, falling across her face. Returning it to its place, he adjusted the collar of her dress, the sleeves, and wiped at a smudge on her black-shined fine little boots.

Scowling, he rubbed harder. The stain didn’t budge. Tightness took his chest, straining the limits of the space within. Bars closed in, drew tighter and tighter. He smiled at her, but the lock had fallen across her face again.

Before he could fix it, she grabbed his face. Leaning in, she kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, Dad.” Her voice was bright, hiding a brittle undertone scoring her soul. Her tiny fingers tugged at his hair. Probably pulled some loose as well.

If she messed up his hair, then he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t even get hers to sit right. How was he ever supposed to—

Shiri stepped into the bathroom, appearing as a mirror to Frija. Her dress, black as a moonless night with only speckles of light across the chest, was an exact repeat of Frija’s. Down to the black-shined boots, they matched.

Behind her, Vasso entered. His hair slicked out of his face with a pomade. He wore a Sentinel’s uniform like Ranvir, though also without insignia. His features, still in the tight-fisted grip of youth, were a familiar somber. His gaze was dark with recognition.

“You look so beautiful!” Shiri whisper-cheered. Tugging Frija’s head back to reveal her grinning smile, she kissed her forehead. Hidden away in the move, she swept the errant lock in amongst the hairs and pinned it in place.

Frija, still smiling, stepped away, and the smudge moved on her boot. Just a reflection. Ranvir drew in a shaky breath and straightened, kissing her quickly before grabbing Vasso’s shoulder. Vasso rested a hand over his. Smaller digits, warm and steadying. Ranvir smiled down at him. At both the kids, stroking Frija’s cheek.

“It’s time to go,” Shiri said, looping her arm through his.

Oh, Goddess. He thought. I don’t want to.

Yet, he swaddled them in space and sent them on their way. It seemed to pull something loose from his chest and it was as if he’d become disconnected from the rest of the world, from people.

The Sworden estate was a somber place, filled with huddled shadows, cloaks pulled up against the snow. Performative ghosts shuffled among the masses, bringing muted cries and over-wrought wails. Shedding tears for a man they couldn’t describe. A noble-who-they-once-knew’s son.

The place was unrecognizable when he entered. Candles lit every room by the score. Heavy wax dripped down every windowsill, every table was laden with a book of the Triplet Faith and stained with colored wax. The house had been restocked, furniture to fill the many lounges and guest rooms. Dust and debris hadn’t ruled the house for many months, but it hadn’t been this spotless since Dovar’s family employed servants. The kitchens steamed with scents of cooking food.

The mansion was ostensibly welcoming. Lit with candles and filled with warmth to fend off the chill winter. But this was not the place Dovar had lived for the last years of his life. This was not his home.

Bare, laid a path, carving from the gardens and through the house. A simple black roll of heavy cloth with a single line of white down the center. To ease his passing and proceed him gently down the road now laying before him.

People Ranvir had never seen mingled among rare familiar faces. The gardener Dovar had been working with to reconstitute the estate and his kids were speckled. Closer to the garden, he found Esmund and Grevor. Saying brief goodbyes, Ranvir walked up to them, reflexively searching for the others.

“Just in time,” Es said, looking into the garden. The black path trailed all the way to the emberleaf. It had mostly surrendered to the winter’s cold, leaving only a bare few feet of soft soil around it. “They’ll be bringing him out soon.”

Ranvir nodded, resting his hands on his thigh before he followed Grev’s example and folded them behind his back. “It looks almost like the first time I saw it.”

Grev nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Rem—“

He was cut off by an ear-piercing wail as a man fell to his knees, tears streaking his cheeks and hands clutching his gut. Thin and wispy, the man had the look of drama on him.

Grev’s smile turned into a sneer. “Almost reminds me of that first night in the house.”

“This is nothing like I remember it at all,” Es said. “Far too little paint.”

Ranvir frowned and cocked his head. “Paint? I don’t remember that at all.”

“You’d blacked out before I found it.”

Grev’s harsh features softened slightly. “We spent hours chasing you and those dogs down. Sansir never found out where you found those dogs.” There was hurt lingering in his eyes underneath the smile.

“I don’t remember this…” Ranvir glanced between.

“It started with that tree—“

“Don’t tell him now,” Grev said, elbowing Esmund and whispering behind a covering hand. “You’ll ruin the fun.”

They all chuckled before a hush fell over the crowd. A procession had just entered the house, walking down the dark passage laid out before them. Asny, shrouded in white-speckled black, strode at the front carrying his urn. Clutching it to her chest, fingers pale white on the clay.

The procession was the only sound. Fine boots on dark cloth, the groan of floorboards, and Asny’s occasional hitching breath. Frija ran across the room, thankfully not crossing the passage and into Ranvir’s legs. She clutched him tight, and he put a hand against her head.

As they left the house, Asny broke. She sobbed and shook, nearly losing her balance. The dark-figure from behind her shot out a hand to her shoulder. She caught herself and nodded to her aunt before continuing on.

Behind the procession, the rest of the funeral gathered to watch from the windows as she walked up to the emberleaf and Dovar was lowered into his grave, at the roots of his mother’s tree. His last family’s cry rend the air and people who watched.

The family left the passage and walked into the garden, out of sight. Next came the gardener, walking down to the tree, the passage stretching dark and white behind them. Brief words were spent, and they, too, departed.

More people, more words. Sincere and not.

“When are we?” Ranvir asked Shiri, who’d come up to join them alongside the kids and Kirs.

“Last.”

He winced. For those least close to him. Who could and would give the least in the way of easing his new path.

“I don’t think we should stick around after,” Shiri continued as Ayvir and Pashar joined them. Amalia and her family had stayed behind to take care of her.

Ranvir nodded to her.

When, at last, it was their time to go. Ranvir found he had little to say to Dovar. “You were a beautiful soul, stronger and more capable than you ever gave yourself credit for. You loved so strongly there was often little left for yourself. I’m sorry.”

“When will Dovar come back?” Frija asked, clutching his fingers.

Ranvir hugged her tight. He didn’t know what to say. “Sometimes, people don’t.” Vasso strode up to them and Ranvir reached out to hug him. He was already too familiar with funerals. He attempted to crush Ranvir. Squeezing until he shook from effort. Ranvir hauled just as hard on him. Until Frija pulled them apart, her eyes wide in fright.

She looked so big in Vasso’s arms as he picked her up and held her.

Walking around the garden and returning to the front, they found the door closed. They were not wanted at the funeral. Ranvir did not blame Asny, though he wished he could’ve talked to her. What would I even say?

Grev went to a bag standing next to the walkway. Ranvir looked at him and nodded. Es shook his head, placing his hands on hips. “One more time.”

The clearing was south of Rime’s Shadow’s logging camp. Small, barely teen feet across. Bland gray had swallowed the sky, no light, no dark. Unrelieved boring from horizon to horizon.

Snow rose to the knees on Ranvir, and he had to hold Frija. Two dark gray stones, throw off from quarries, speckled with brittle obsidian and marked with flaws from the digging, rose from the chill.

Only a single carving marked either grave, carved with ice by a hand that could no longer. An axe and horse marked Tore’s stone. Though his body lay in the village’s cemetery, this was where Sansir had said goodbye.

Less than a year later, he’d returned.

Marked by a sun and a crib. Sansir’s mother had been buried in this clearing, since no one else attempted to gainsay him. He’d done it alone, Grevor not finding out until it was too late.

Ranvir hadn’t even been there.

Grev withdrew a gravestone, thinner than the others, but tall as them. A marker stone, usually used to roads sign the limits of roads. Two rings were carved into it. It took minimal effort for them to insert the marker deep enough that it wouldn’t tip. Little more to dig Sansir’s grave.

Grevor was stoic the entire time. Features frozen solid as he lowered his love into the ground. They buried him together. For all that Sansir had wrought, they were far too few. Yet, the clearing could not hold them as it was already.

“Go,” Grev whispered to Ranvir. “You can pick me up tomorrow.”

Ranvir shook his head. “I’ll bring you back here as many times as you want, but we’re not alone. Least of all tonight.”

Grev’s expression shook for a moment.