Becka chose a spot far enough back from the pyre to make a hasty exit, but close enough to see everything with clarity. The pyre stood at the center of the meadow atop a broad granite slab, which stood about two feet higher than the surrounding ground. The field was peppered with intermingled clusters of scarlet paintbrush, white yarrow, white clover, and the yellow, orange and red daisy-shaped petal gaillardias. There were other flowers, but she couldn’t recall the names. Perhaps evening primrose? The entire glen was surrounded by a mixture of blue spruce and aspen thickly clustered. She could hear the melodious trickle and bubble of a stream somewhere beyond the tree line, accompanied by the songs of finches.
From what she remembered of protocol, no one could force her to stand with family nor make her stay any longer than she desired. Besides, she didn’t want an up close and personal view of her twin burning.
Even from this distance, she could see the eight layers of base logs laid in alternating directions. She knew from her fae studies that the logs would consist of a combination of ash, oak, hawthorn, and hazel. On top of this was a woven chamber where Tesse laid upon her bier, wrapped in the finest silks.
Above this chamber perched an intricate sculpture of roses formed from rowan wood. Had it been carved by hand or magically transformed into that shape? She hadn’t paid attention to the details over dinner, but remembered hearing the work had been a special commission.
Living in the city she’d been to a couple of human funerals, one a student from one of her classes and the other a university regent, neither of which was a cremation nor pyre. Staring up at the pyre and the wrapped form of her sister inside who they were about to watch burn, the word barbaric floated around the back of her mind. She’d been around human sensibilities too long for this to read as typical.
Quinn turned to watch the crowd behind them, his body close to hers. “Any further thoughts on your power’s impact on the glyphs last night?” he said in low tones.
Their eyes met for a moment, a sense of shared uncertainty hung between them. “No. I think if I want to understand my gift better, I’ll have to take Astrid up on her offer of training.”
“It seems a reasonable next step.”
“Assuming I stay with House Rowan.”
He looked at her sharply. “But what other choice do you have?”
Becka sighed. “Right? Humans won’t sanction a gifted fae taking up residence within their cities.”
“That’s correct. Unless you have a work permit and those have to be re-approved every two years.”
“So, I’m stuck here. It’s not like another house would take me in.”
“With your ability? I think you might be surprised.”
Becka shrugged. “I prefer the cities. I can be whomever I want in the cities.”
“Once you are trained, you can apply for a work visa. Now that you are a guilded fae, the civic service requirements will kick in.”
“Of course, from the compromises listed in the peace treaty.” She pursed her lips. “It’s the ‘required’ part that bleeds the fun right out of it.”
Their conversation was interrupted when a hush fell over the crowd, as an androgynous triad from House Elder entered the clearing. The House of Memories presided over all funerals, ensuring the integrity of the spirit as it passed from one form into another. They were a secretive house, which she only remembered seeing at funerals clad in all-natural robes. The torches they held high each uttered a low roar, so hot and fast-burning was their fire. They wore traditional House Elder gowns made from layers of elder leaves, ranging the gamut in ombre coloring from light green to verdant green to pale brown.
When the triad reached the pyre, they split and circled the structure, processing around it in a stately fashion, their eyes downcast, expressions somber. As the light of the torches encircled the pyre, Becka could make out the form of her sister within the central space, causing a reflexive shiver to run down her spine.
At least Tesse would be put to rest without those hideous glyphs marring her flesh.
A chant began, perhaps with the officiants or others in the crowd, Becka couldn’t tell. It spread quickly, and recognizing it, Becka joined in.
“From the Earth, of the Earth, we return to the Earth.”
The words didn’t grow in volume, so much as in clarity. The officiants from House Elder extended their torches down and into the pyre as they circled, and the tinder between the logs quickly sparked. When the flames were well and truly caught, the triad laid their torches at the foot of the pyre and took a few steps back. Each withdrew a parcel from their living robes and, tossing each into the raging flames, spoke in unison.
“To our families, to our blood, to our memories...may they return and comfort us.”
As the bundles caught, roiling plumes of smoke rolled out and away from the pyre in great wafting circles into the crowd. This smoke was differentiated from the bonfire smoke, which poured upward on heated drafts, a column of thick cloud rising up and up to dissolve far above them into the sky.
Becka was relieved to see the smoke touching her feet and clothes. “It’s not magical,” she whispered.
“No,” Quinn replied, also whispering. “Sometimes it’s just an incense they use it to cover the smell, but more commonly it’s a combination of mild euphorics intended to enhance the gravity of the experience.”
“Right, Becka said. “I remember how common magic is used during fae events, it’s just remarkable as I’m not used to it.”
She watched the flames grow and listened to their roar drowning out other ambient sounds. The incense did its job, she
