Page 6 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“Yeah?” he murmurs in response, and yet there’s a finality to it. As if he doesn’t mind the sadness I’m about to offer on a silver platter.
I chuckle bitterly beneath my breath, forcing my gaze upward, drawn to the stars that witnessed this story unfold. “Surma was the first child of the first two people—Amun and Eira. He was forced into battle against the monsters and wasquickly deemed the best warrior in the universe. The people loved him.Eiraloved him.”
I pause, the words sinking like stones. I don’t know why. It isn’tmystory; it’s only my words. But I feel as if they’re a part of me. Or maybe I’m borrowing emotion, somehow tapping into a dead woman and her motherly grief. One of the first people to ever live.
“But Eira’s sister, Elysina, was bitter,” I continued. “Greedy. She wanted that title for her firstborn—the power, the glory. Elysina, in her jealousy, manipulated a fatta’s subconscious. And it killed Surma. But… the fatta doesn’t just kill the body.” I nearly shudder. “It destroys the soul, too.Everythingabout you, erased.
“Eira was devastated. She carried her son’s broken body to Sulva, pleading with the lunar goddess to let Surma live on—somehow. Someway.” My words hang in the air, thick with the gravity of the tale. I steal a glance at Azaire, his face bathed in the light of the stars, holding his breath with me.
“Now all we have is a cluster of stars in his name,” I mutter.
Azaire glances at me for a quick moment, then back at the sky without a word.
Is he going to say something? Is he contemplating? He must be. But this is the first conversation I’ve had in weeks, and he’s not saying anything. I suppose I no longer understand how the mind works, how to communicate. It’s been so long since I’ve had company. I’ve learned that emotions are different from thoughts. Thoughts tend to be linear—you can trace the rabbit’s trail from point A to point B.
Emotions come in waves. You’re at their mercy as much as dust is to the wind’s.
So why am I upset that he isn’t answering me? There’s nothing more to say.
I may have taken too much of his emotion earlier, turned him into a shell of himself. In that case, I have to leave immediately, let him find his way back. He should be fine tomorrow, when he awakens from a night’s worth of sleep.
I begin to stand.
His voice stops me.
“Even the most powerful of us are flawed,” Azaire whispers.
He’s right. Eira and Elysina, two of the most powerful Lyrians of all time, killed one another’s children out of spite.
“Maybe it’s the price of duality,” Azaire finishes.
I nearly smile. He responded.
I wasn’t expecting him to.
But I dearly wanted him to.
“You know I see it in everything,” I respond, leaning my body back down against the grass. “The good and the ugly.” I tug on the hairs standing up on my arms. “I’m beginning to believe that you can’t have one without the other. It’s kind of exhausting.” I laugh.
It’s the truth.
“I like the way you speak.” Azaire’s voice is soft, and I’m blindsided by the sentiment. That’s something I’ve never been told, not even something in its likeness. Then again, I don’t often speak to people.
“Why’s that?” I ask, my voice tight.
“I—” He pauses. “I don’t know. I guess you just highlight the good.”
I laugh again. If only he knew.
Then Azaire says, “You understand that someone can do evil and still be good.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I said.”
I’m sure he’s not listening to me.
“Isn’t it?” he presses.
We’re looking at one another now.
