Page 37 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
It was not a small affair. Hundreds dotted the hilltop meadow overlooking the western sea. They circled the shallow vault that still awaited the final sealing stones. Important kings had been ushered into Paradise with fewer witnesses. Glennis was not just esteemed among knights, but loved.
Eris stood beside the cradle of rocks that held her remains. Wildflowers that should have been woven through her hair instead circled the cloth that encased her head. He recited the revered laws of the gods and sang their promises, every word memorized, a library of knowledge flowing from his tongue. He spoke each word with tenderness and respect, recounting noble quests, valor, and higher causes, and the history they shared. Flesh rose on arms, and broken hearts swelled, but when his voice wavered and he had to look down for a moment, Bristol’s own resolve faltered. Glennis was dead, and by her mother’s hand. Among the mourners, Bristol felt out of place on the glade, a weed in a garden.
She and the other recruits stood together, some distance back, fully suited in their best tunics and jackets, their newly granted swords bearing the cherished gems of knighthood sheathed on their backs. Before they left the barn for the funeral, Tyghan and Kasta had hastily presented them, lightly tapping their shoulders.And with this sword, I also grant you the title of knight. Rose and Avery had wept.
They weren’t weeping now. They stood as tall and silent as all the other knights from the garrison, there to honor their fallen comrade.
When Eris finished the recitations, he motioned to the officers of Glennis’s squad to step forward with the items that would accompany her into Paradise. Kasta went first, tucking two silver goblets and a cask of honeysuckle wine beside Glennis. Quin laid a golden torc and a handful of jeweled hair combs beside her, saying, “You’ll have time to wear these now.”
The awkwardness of placing these items beside the small wrapped head only emphasized the brutality of Glennis’s death. Dalagorn was next, with a chest belt holding three small knives. He lowered his massive bulk to one knee, his own belts and hardware jingling, and gently set it beside her, as though her remains were as fragile as a butterfly. His thick ogre lips twisted. “Swift travels, my friend.”
Eris nodded to Tyghan, and he unsheathed a sword on his back. Glennis’s sword. Tyghan held it across both of his open palms in a reverent position as he walked toward the grave. Bristol watched his face, the clench of his jaw as he struggled for control, his effort to be the best Knight Commander he could be to honor this beloved knight. The gem-encrusted hilt glittered in the sun, a dozen cut stones that marked her years of bravery and loyalty. He knelt beside the vault and laid her sword next to the other treasures that would accompany her to the otherworld. “Go to your deserved rest, Officer Dervy.” He swallowed. “Prepare the halls for the rest of us.” He bowed his head closer and whispered a few more words to her that no one else could hear, then returned to stand beside the other officers.
Cully was last, carrying a shallow earthen pot with a lid. His steps were halting, and when he reached the stones that held her, he fell roughly to his knees. His shoulders shook as he carefully laid down the pot. “Leek pie,” he said. “Your fa-favorite.” His cracking voice almost undid Bristol, but as he rose to his feet again, his face became suddenly fierce. “This is not the end!” he shouted, and raised his fist to the air. “It’s only the beginning!”
A hail of shouts called back to him, fists raised in unity. The chorus echoed over the hills, his fellow officers joining in, but as the shouts finally calmed, Cully realized he had broken protocol and delayed the final benediction for Glennis. He returned his fist to his side and went to stand with his fellow officers.
Eris turned to the west and the setting sun and called upon the great gods, Danu, Dagda, Brigid, Lugh, and more, to smooth the waters of her route and prepare the halls of Paradise for a grand feast with leek pie and honeysuckle wine. With that, a strong breeze whipped up, whistling over the glade as if the gods had answered his call. Eris turned back to Glennis. “Through the mists and over the golden waters to where the sun sets, your final rest awaits. Remember those of us who will follow.”
And it was done. The sealing stones were set on the vault and mounds of dirt piled atop, until it was part of the earth, where in a season, grass would reclaim the mound and heal the scars.
In solemn silence, everyone began to depart. But then Bristol heard a sound. Strangely out of place in this stoic company, but familiar.Weeping. She turned, scanning the meadow, but saw no one sobbing. The sound of grief shouldn’t have stood out, not at a funeral, but somehow it did. Bristol shook it off and left with her friends, saying quiet goodbyes as each turned toward their own hallways and rooms. When Bristol got to her own, she was surprised to find a posy of flowers hanging from her door handle. Was this a Danu tradition after a funeral? But on closer inspection, she gasped. They were wildflowers tied up with rough sisal twine—like the kind Willow used to leave on doors in Bowskeep. And there was golden yarrow in the bouquet, the exact same flowers that filled the fields near her father’s memorial. Was it possible Willow had come to Elphame? Bristol spun, looking in both directions down her hallway. “Willow?” she called softly, but there was no answer.
Only a fae tradition, she thought. Willow was a world away. But then she remembered the weeping as she left the funeral.
CHAPTER 29
Maire.
Maire.
Would she hear him calling? Would she know he had come for her?
Kierus strained against the confines of the stone. At times he thought he felt it give, but it was never enough.
He had failed his wife. Failed his daughters. He had to get out, but how?
A thousand years. He had already lost his concept of time. One night felt like ten, one day, a hundred. A blink of his eyes started his day all over again. It seemed a thousand years had already passed, but he was sure he was just at the beginning of his sentence. He had to be. He couldn’t accept anything else. He began to live for things like a bird chirping, the sound of rain.Footsteps. He prayed to the gods for footsteps.
Today, he heard horns. Three long bellows of a carnyx. A funeral. Someone was dead.
No matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t get closer. Sometimes he thought trying was more torturous that giving in, giving up, but he had never done that before. He wasn’t that far gone yet. He tried again.
Bri, he screamed. If anyone could hear him, she would. But she didn’t come either.
And then an unwelcome voice stirred in his head.This used to be your favorite.
It wasn’t the angry words that tore apart his insides but the quieter ones. Words that made memories flood back. What he had lost. His bond with Tyghan. The grief that always followed him and spilled over into his art.
You decided wrong.
Never. Not in regard to Maire and his daughters.
But it hurt to see the terrible pain in Tyghan’s eyes and know he had put it there. If he had only had more time, if only he could have found another way to stop him and the army of knights from hunting Maire down, he would have. This is what he was condemned to think about for a thousand years.
He pushed against the stone, pounded, called out, determined to break free. The wonder of Danu never gave up.
CHAPTER 30
