Chương 29: XXIX. Grave Encounters

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED LEVEL 1 [HUNTSWOMAN]! ADDED TO COMMONER CLASSES. I dismissed the notification, clearing my vision to expose the feeble corpse. The lustrous fur had become ashen, the muscle beneath wasted to nothing. Its floating [Animus] however was a small ball of green flame with an organic pale light that danced within. I had nowhere to place it. It was trying to escape like a butterfly caged within your palm.

I didn't want it to flutter away, so the bear corpse would have to become carrion for the animals. Lord Oakhelm greeted me as I walked by, the green vines of the Rhyvestaflower already encroaching upon the bark. The white petals bloomed open and the very tips were coated with frost. A giant moth fluttered atop of one and upon its wingspan was a skull. I stopped moving; that was an [Acherontia Mortis], or the Skull-Winged Hawkmoth.

It was the last insect I had needed to complete my Lepidoptera of Oakheart collection! It fluttered towards my hand, dancing around the soulflame. It hovered in place, considering. It dove through the fire. The skull-pattern on its wings ignited. It landed atop my face. It scuttled upwards, claiming my blood-soaked hair as its roost. Only then did I look down. My clothes were torn and ruined, and my own blood stained my breast. At least the bones of my rib cage were hidden underneath the restored flesh. Pain.

It flooded through my system. My skin was gooseflesh. Was. There was no danger anymore, and something so banal as injury had to ruin the majesty. There was always work to do, and always a moment after. I limped. My hand shook and every wobble was a chance for the soulflame to escape. But the Hawkmoth's antennae remained firmly affixed to the burning pyre. The dancing pale light reflected off the moth's eyes. The door to my cottage was already open. The hearthfire was roaring, and the cauldron bubbled.

Cayenne, red pepper, garlic, and roast chicken bathed the room in its scent. The room was clean, the table set. A porcelain bowl sat atop the table, the flickering flames of hearthfire dancing over the portion. Rhyvesta's gaze poured through the window. It encroached upon the gloom the flame would not reach, and weaved around the stool opposite the flames. No light would reach it, but Her brown eyes glowed. She pushed a bottle forward. It was glass with a cork-stopper embossed with black string.

It was pushed into the light of the hearthfire, but Ma's fingers didn't cross that boundary.

"I will lend you, for a little time - A child of mine." I released the flame. The hawkmoth took off and encircled it, and the fire followed its path. It danced over the air and led the soulflame into the glass vial. Ma corked the vial, before beckoning to the stool. Her voice was Ma but Ma didn't talk like that. I knew better, I knew it was impossible – but I had already begun to run. The darkness enveloped me and I reached out to the shade. Ma's brown eyes widened, and I reached for her face. She was warm.

Her arms wrapped around me and squeezed. Her fingers stroked my spine. She smelled like Cayenne, like garlic, like red pepper. My face was wet, and her other hand cleared my tears. I didn't want to ask the question. There was no answer that would make me sen–"Thou think too much, my dear," Her words interrupted my thoughts.

"I am not she, but I am thine Mother. Sit opposite me and sup, for we have much to discuss." Her voice felt like snowfall and stillness, of insects chewing and life regrowing. But she sounded like Ma. She felt like Ma. Her eyes shined like Ma.

"Thine mother is dead," She said.

"But that does not mean she is gone. Now, must I ask a fourth time, or will thrice suffice, my dear?" I couldn't let go. My throat was dry. My face was wet. She wasn't – but She was. My fingers squeezed tighter, and I buried my face into her body. She squeezed back tighter.

"I know no haste. But you must put away your labour and leisure too." Her other hand stopped stroking my back. She reached into the darkness, pulling out… a tippet, made of tulle. She wrapped it around my shoulders, and… Kissed my cheek. The tippet was black spidersilk. It clung to my skin and covered my exposed breast, drinking up the blood. She raised Her hand and touched my forehead. She pushed me back into the light, and I stumbled to the stool illuminated in hearthflame.

Again, She beckoned towards the bowl of stew. I sat opposite of her, my shaking hands unable to hold the porcelain ladle. It trembled, spilling the stew back into the bowl. Her brown eyes were soft and watched me. I raised it to my mouth and drank deeply. The spices mixed in the way Ma had always done; onions as the base flaked with red pepper and cayenne. Garlic till it was fragrant to create the broth. Adrian was close, but Ma had made this for me. One day, I would make it for him.

"Pa an' I are so proud, Ash," Ma said. My eyes shot open. I dropped the spoon into the bowl and jerked upwards, but Ma raised her hand.

"Ash, as long as ya remains in the hearthflame, She said I could talk to ya. I can' touch ya, but – ""How?" I said.

"Why?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"I don' know, sorry Ash," Ma said. She sounded apologetic, but the only thing I could see was her brown eyes.

"I can answer the why though." I swallowed. My throat burned. Do I apologize first, do I just ask her how she's doing. No, we listen. Answer her, Ash.

"Please?"

"Well, Matthew said I could see ya first. On account of…" Ma began, but shook her head in the gloom.

"And She said I could talk to ya if I passed on a message and helped ya build a…

'Northern Altar'?" I swallowed again. The stew bubbled, and there wasn't even any corn.

"Ma, I'm sorry I didn' write back."

"What difference does that make now, Ash?" Ma said.

"Ya can' change the past. Besides, Matt always said you was goin' to be somethin' great, and when She said what you was becomin'... well, I can see you with my own eyes."

"... Pa said that?" I rubbed my arm.

"He always said I was worth–""Ash, we had no dowry. He said it one time, an' ya wasn' even supposed to hear it. I told him ya was goin' to be somethin' great one day, and ya focused on the dowry bit?" Ma said. She sounded exasperated, but without seeing how she acted or how she moved – only two eyes in the darkness – it was hard to judge. And I didn't know what to say. I could always talk to Ma about whatever was in my head, but she was gone. And now, she was back, but what do I sa–"I miss you. An' Pa.

But, I have friends now. Jazzy – I mean, Jasmine and I are friends. I'm trying to be friends with Missy too. Madeleine is nice, you would have liked her. An' I started a business, gonna fix this farm. Oh, tell Pa I was right about the clo–""Ya can tell him yourself, Ash," Ma said.

"I wan' to hear everythin'. To touch ya again. We both do. She said we could, but it is up to ya. Uh…" Ma turned her head to the shade, and the hawkmoth flew into the darkness. Something shifted, and I knew I ought to avert my eyes. Or I would die.

"Oh. Thank you, Missus!" Ma said. I couldn't tell if it was reverent, or cheerful." She said this is a Visitation, and I am to tell ya that 'ya have to pick a path'. She says your options are [Necromancer], [Messenger], or [Harvester]?" Ma turned her head back to the darkness, before turning back to me.

"... Uh, I is supposed to tell ya what each is, but also says I has the entire night. There is no rush."

"Ma…" I said.

"I.. I… I don't know. What do you wanna do?"

"I have the night, Ash. Is there anythin' on yer mind?" I stirred the stew, staring at my reflection in the liquid. My face was bloodied, and I had bags underneath my eyes. My green eyes shimmered under the hearthflame.

"Addy's getting married, Ma." The moth returned back atop the glass vial, fluttering around til it faced me. The green glow of the [Animus] illuminated its body. Her antenna wiggled, black eyes reflecting the entirety of my face in Her reflection.

"I know," Ma said. Her eyes wouldn't meet mine, though I might have been the one avoiding her judgement.

"Yer Her child now, after all, as he is His. Are ya happy with it?"

"I dunno, Ma." Ma's eyes were wet, and she looked down at the moth. The moth turned around to stare into the darkness. Then She nodded her head, wings expanding and showing the full face of Death. Howling winter wind shoved the door open. Gusts swept the curtains asunder and scattered paper and parchment, whipping my hair under its majesty. The tippet did not move. It remained firmly attached to my shoulders, comforting and protecting the rest of my body from the storm. The hearthfire bent to Winter and dimmed.

Only desperate embers illuminated me, quite weakly. I still held onto the ladle in the silent gloom… and cold hands touched mine. They were waxy and filled with warts. Bumps and lesions claimed the skin, and the wet feel of pus and sanguine fluid coated my fingers. She was so frail, so thin, so weak. Yet, she used what little power she had to hold my fingers. I squeezed in response, and felt her bones give way. Any more pressure and she would break.

"Ash, I didn' raise no quitter. Ya wanted somethin', and ya took it. But ya always have to give somethin'. Matt always said it was his sweat, his tears, his blood. But he was happy with his life, an' I was happy with mine."

"We were poor!" I said. I squeezed Ma's hand and it cracked under me. She did not pull away.

"An'?" Ma said.

"Gramma and Grappa was poor too, Ash. They never got to see their grand-daughter, but I got to hold ya in my arms." Her hands tried to squeeze mine. Tried." She likes poetry, ya know. I asked Her about ya when She told us…" Ma said, but the howling wind responded. It flooded my eyes, covering my vision. Her words was the Symphony, the growing snow. The pitter of choices and rivers and decisions like clicks that created sound out of chaos. And in the Chaos, was Her.

──────── ✝ ────────"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." ──────── ⸸ ──────── The box hovered in the darkness, and Her voice was so soft and warm. It was Ma, it was Pa, it was Nana, and Gramps. It was Mirchie and Penelope, all merged into one Song – one River.

"Ash, if ya wanna walk this path, there are things ya must give up. Not even the Gods know the future, but they know the past," Ma said, and then laughed. I joined her, and my fingers rubbed against the poor, calloused, sick skin I never got to see. Never got to touch.

"Should I have been a doctor, Ma?"

"It's a strange question, My Dear," She responded.

"I know what thine mother would respond in her heart of hearts, and what she would tell thou, in her words. But both answers are wrong, my Sweetest Daughter." Her hand was warm and smooth. Her other hand was diseased and skeletal. She shimmered, and I could see Ma – healthy as ever, as I last saw her.

"But thou are seeking an answer, my Sweetest Daughter, not a platitude. All I can confirm is that thine life would have been different. There is nothing thou could have done. Would thou like to see?" I stared into Her eyes.

"Please?"