CHAPTER FOUR
Haunting
Slamming back and forth like a flag caught in a hurricane, the front door barely had time to rest upon its hinges before another person tossed it open. Everyone raced from the front of the house to the back, dropping off things or shouting for people to come help. Lana watched it all from her chair, uncertain what strange things were about to happen. Safe in her fingers sat a mask carved from thin wood. With an elongated nose and pointed ears it reminded her a bit of a bat or other terrifying creature of the night. It would look as out of place at an Orlesian ball as denizens of Halamshiral would on the farm, though she'd pay good sovereigns to see the latter happen.
Cullen kept up with the cavalcade, chasing after children draped in furs that belonged with deepest winter not the autumn chill working across the tamed farmland. They wore their own bat/creature masks, each of a different design but with the same snout and sharp ears look. One of Mia's girls kept pausing in front of a mirror to grin madly, showing off the 'teeth in a box.' Two real fangs, most likely from a wolf or bear, distended off wires she shaped against her own real teeth giving the eleven year old the jarring look of a blood thirty monster out of legend.
Every once in awhile, her husband would stop, make certain she was okay, and then be beset upon once again by ecstatic children. He'd shrug at their cries for help at tying off masks and fur cloaks, always insisting he double knotted them for safety. For a brief moment, Cullen ran his fingers over the back of Lana's chair, his lips glancing near her ear so he could whisper, "Very grateful I can return them to their parents. Yes? I can help with that."
The latter was shouted out the door before he slipped back to being the helpful uncle, but Lana ran her fingers down his before he got too far. She smiled at the erratic preparations, but was no closer to an explanation beyond something was about to take place. As time ticked by, silence swept across the indigo bathed land, but a bubbling excitement swarmed over the families. It was Mia who came for her first. She had her own mask strapped on, this one decorated with swatches of real white and tan fur. So, probably not a bat.
"It's about to start. Are you good to go?" she asked, pausing before the resting woman.
Lana bent over to unearth her cane. For a brief moment, her fingers glanced over Cullen's carving under the handle before she looked up at Mia. "I am, assuming I have any idea what's about to occur."
A noise scattered from the hall and Cullen prodded his head into the sitting room. "Love, it's about to...what?" He caught Mia's mile long stare eying him up.
"You didn't tell her?" she folded her arms over her bosom that was amplified from stacks of furs tossed across her shoulders.
"I was going to, eventually, but then there were the issues with the kindling, and the rocks and...do not try that look upon me. Hundreds of soldiers and templars have failed at such an endeavor."
"But those soldiers and templars didn't know about the time you ripped off your nappy and ran stark naked through the--"
"All right, all right!" Cullen threw up his hands, a bright blush burning across his cheeks. "I am well chastised, please stop." His wounded eyes turned from his sister to Lana, and she could only shrug. After rubbing the nape of his neck, he extended a hand to her. She shifted her cane to the other side and took it, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb.
Mia smirked at her win, then she eyed up Lana. "Maker's breath, is that flimsy dress all you have to wear?"
"I, uh, there are other clothes left back in the..." she began to point in the direction of their belongings in a shared room, but Mia waved her hands.
"No, there's not time. Wait a moment." Mia vanished to another room in the house while Cullen only shrugged. He had no idea what his sister had planned. When she returned she held a cream and gold sweater in the same pattern as the one donning both her family and Branson's. "Here," she extended it to Lana.
The wool was soft and smelled of sweet hay. "Thank you," Lana said, sliding into it. While the sleeves dangled past her hands, she rolled them up once. There was more give in the stomach area than she expected, but it fit snug against her bust. After inspecting the hemline, her eyes caught Cullen's attempting to dart away from making the same realization about her chest in the sweater. Maker, he was too adorable for words sometimes.
Grateful for the extra warmth she seemed to be needing, Lana tipped her head to Mia, "I hope I don't spill anything on it before returning it."
"Oh, no. It's yours. You're family after all," Mia threw it off the cuff as if it was a simple fact. Family. Something she lost at the age of six. Even with Hawke it never felt real, the pair of them forever traveling because no home wanted them. But here it felt different, settled, safe.
Unaware of the turmoil in Lana's throat, Mia snickered, "I would have had it finished before the wedding, but someone kept forgetting to give me your dimensions." She prodded Cullen in the arm and he groaned.
"Forgive me for having a lot on my mind at the time. Weddings are rather known for doing that."
Blinking against a spray of happy tears, Lana gripped onto Mia's hand, dragging her from her spat with Cullen. Her sneer at his incompetence faded immediately from the emotion bubbling over in Lana's eyes. "Thank you, for this and..."
"Of course," Mia reached over and patted her on the back, "don't mention it. I even made one for Angie because she insisted," she lowered her voice to whisper, "but it's puce and olive green. Good way to use up a failed dye lot." Lana snickered from their shared moment and released her hold on the woman to return it with her husband.
"Now, shouldn't we be getting on outside? Midnight's nearly here and the souls wait for no man," Mia rubbed her hands together, stepping out to her front door.
Cullen's hand slid around Lana's shoulders, half hugging her against him, before he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Then he gestured at the mask resting back on the chair, "Don't forget to put it on. It's important."
"Then where's yours?" she asked before turning back to snatch it up.
He barely sneered at the idea as the mighty Commander of the Inquisition and once Knight-Captain of Kirkwall pulled a mask out from behind him and began to knot it on. Darker than the others she'd seen decorating the Rutherford clan, Cullen's mask seemed to be stained by age and wear, the edges barely reaching to fill his face. It was flatter than the children's, the nose only slightly longer than his and one of the fangs in it was broken off.
"It's uh, been awhile since I've worn this," he admitted, trying to tilt it to fit against his face, the jawline giving him the most trouble.
"I'm guessing since puberty hit," Lana chuckled while putting on her own. She was given a snowy white one. Instead of lines carved into the wood someone took the time to do a few intricate designs chiseled where the fur would part. Judging by the bright smile upon Cullen's face, she had a funny feeling she knew who made it. Now, if only she knew why.
He ran a finger up under the mask, trying to give his adult jaw room to breathe. "I didn't think I'd grown so much since I was thirteen," he confessed.
Smirking, Lana slid right next to him. She peered through two oval slits to slowly eye up her husband's body. In a hoarse voice, she whispered, "I'm very grateful for the growing you've done."
Cullen slipped a hand around her back tugging her tight to him. Those honey eyes dipped down from behind the mahogany wood to take in her own growing. Pressing his lips next to hers, he breathed, "Don't I know it." Twisting his head, Cullen moved to kiss her, when the nose of her mask jarred into his, causing both their heads to knock about. They began to laugh at the predicament, their lips unable to meet across an impenetrable void.
"If you two are finished," Mia groaned, causing them to both break apart in as guilty a fashion as they could manage. "We have some demons to banish."
"D...demons?" Lana's eyes widened in shock. Cullen didn't explain, only grabbed her hand in his and led her out the front door.
All of the gathered Rutherfords and a few other families who l
ived in the area stood outside dressed in the same various animal masks and furs. The adults stood around in a relaxed stance, speaking of the weather and the latest harvest crop as if they didn't all look like a creature about to rip out someone's jugular. The children were more aware of the ridiculousness and chased after each other while growling and yipping. It was when one of the girls tipped her head back and howled that it struck Lana.
"Oh, we're wolves," she sighed in an epiphany that was loud enough to draw everyone's attention to her. A blush charred up her cheeks as two dozen sets of eyes sized up the stupid mage who didn't understand why everyone gathered at midnight while dressed like creatures of the night. Angie in particular seemed to be enjoying her melting.
"I, uh..." Lana wanted to dig herself deeper into the ground and never stop until she hit deep roads, when Mia clapped her hands and stepped into the middle of the crowd.
"It's All Soul's Day Eve, and we know what that means."
"Not all of us," Lana mumbled under her breath, causing Cullen to turn away from his sister and curl a hand around the small of her back.
Dipping down closer to her, he whispered into her ear, "I promise I'll explain." She wanted to trust him, but he'd been rather tight lipped for this whole trip. It wasn't like Cullen to spring surprises on her, not like this.
Clapping her hands again, Mia yanked a flint out of her apron and struck it. Fire burst across a candle her husband was holding, which she picked up from his silent fingers. Without anyone needing any instructions, every standing member snatched up one of the carved gourds and held it out. Mia would say a few words to each one as she lit it, sometimes having to steady the turnip's candle with her fingers as the child fidgeted in anticipation. As she approached them, Lana began to hunt around for the abomination she carved, only to have Cullen push it into her hands.
He tucked his own pumpkin up in the crook of his arm, having given up on the idea of getting a wire inside it. After igniting Branson's turnip, Mia turned to Lana and held out the candle. Uncertain what to do, she cupped her hands under the bottom of it. Mia smiled, pulled off the top while glaring at Cullen who shrugged, before tossing it in the back.
Dipping the flame to touch the candle inside she said, "So the Maker turned from his firstborn and took from the Fade..."
As fire trickled against the small wick, lighting up against the darkness, Mia moved to her brother while continuing the verse, "...A measure of its living flesh, and placed it apart from the Spirits."
He bowed his head as solemnly to his sister as he would to any Revered Mother before hoisting the pumpkin back into his hands. Lana watched Mia move on to the rest of the group, her mind trying to remember where she'd heard that verse before. It was the Chant, of course, but what did that have to do with All Soul's Day? As far as she remembered it was a somber day of honoring the dead, lighting a few candles, sure, but none of them were ever stashed inside of gourds. Nor was anyone in the tower ever dressed like a wolf or any other kind of animal, aside from Karlie but she liked to convince herself she was a squirrel and most everyone went along with it.
Blazing in a circle were a good twenty or so turnips and gourds, casting their haunting firelight through fiery eyes and lipless mouths, all of them giving an eerie glow to each wolf holding it. After returning to the center of the circle, Mia lifted the candle up to her lips, spoke the end of the verse, "By My Will alone is Balance sundered and the world given new life," and blew out the flames.
The solemn silence evaporated with the fire, all of the children wrapping arms tight around their turnips and running full bore into the field. Their parents shouted orders that they be careful to not fall and mind the younger ones, as well as a few insisting they wait up, but all of that was ignored in favor of whatever fun there was to be had inside that cornfield. Lana stood dumbstruck watching the twinkling firelight fade deeper and deeper into the stalks as each child fanned out through their own path.
Branson wrapped a hand around his eldest daughter while Emmy teetered upon his back. Their son was already leagues ahead, chasing the older second cousins, but he'd dutifully slow whenever his mother called out. Not even bothering to tell her girls to wait, Mia wrapped a hand around her husband's arm and together they disappeared into the stalks. Slowly, one by one, all of the Rutherfords succumb to the fields.
"Shall we?" Cullen asked, extending a hand to her. He had to jam that pumpkin under his arm to manage it. She swung her smaller gourd back and forth, watching the flames whip close to falling off in the breeze.
"I suppose so?" Lana said. Hanging the gourd around her cane's handle, she took up her husband's hand and the two of them staggered slowly into the field. The smell of fallen corn silk and reedy stalks chopped off at the head permeated the indigo air as they stepped into the field, boots crunching over leaves. Cullen kept it slow, trying to point out any obvious divots in the ground churned up and muddied from feet stampeding through them. It surprised Lana to find that there was a path carved through the corn, as if someone with a pair of scythes ran through it while fleeing capture. Behind them, Honor kept snatching up fallen stalks to see if anything was edible. To a mabari most things passed the test.
A silence more profound than she thought possible fell over them. Solemner than a funeral in the Grand Cathedral, more ominous than trying to slip through the deep roads, it was a silence that made itself known by not existing at all. A total absence that reverberated your heartbeat within the confines of your skull, creating fear itself. Lana found herself clinging tighter to Cullen as if she truly had something to be afraid of lurking in a Rutherford field.
Howling ripped through the dead air, causing Lana to jump up and spin around. Mana rippled across her hand as she raised it towards the pack of wolves coming for them, when a hand landed upon her shoulder.
"It's eerie how good the children are at that," Cullen said.
"Right," Lana forced a smile, shaking off her magic and trying to not feel foolish for falling for it. "Of course, part of the game."
She tried to sound flippant but her words thudded into her chest and Cullen turned from smiling at the horizon in the direction of the howling children to look fully upon her. "It's okay, Lana. It's not real."
"I know that," she snapped back, feeling a sneer rise up to her lips.
Cullen blinked by the weak gourd light at her, before tipping his head up to the stars. "I've been a complete ass. Maker, I'm sorry. I didn't think about..."
She stuffed her arms around her chest, hugging herself tight while trying to not glare the ground to death. "It's not your fault I know nothing of Ferelden customs despite living here nearly my whole life," Lana mumbled more to herself.
"No, it's mine. I thought, forgot about..." Cullen dug into the back of his neck trying to worry away the knot always waiting there, before he glanced over at something ahead in the field. "Here, please," he extended a hand trying to tug her onward. "There's something you should see. I promise I'll explain."
She didn't take his hand, but followed him further into the field. The pressing stalks were laid down leaving a small clearing in the corn. At the middle rested a pile of wood about two feet across and a handful of stones sat on top shaped almost like a body. Cullen tipped his head to it and said, "This is what the gourds are for, when not using them to decorate outside. They're lanterns to help guide our lost loved ones across the veil. Everyone out there's scurrying to find their pyre to light."
Snatching one of the sticks off the pile, Cullen tipped it into the puny candle tucked inside his pumpkin. The wood caught instantly, no doubt doused in oil, which he then pressed against the pyre itself. Lana staggered back from it, right into a ring of water buckets lining the clearing in case the symbolism got a bit out of control. The flames flickered against the inky night, each one dancing as if with death itself while smoke clouded out the stars.
Cullen took a knee beside it and she watched him whisper a prayer to the Maker to keep those that'd been taken from their
lives. As he went through the list, in alphabetical order of course, he paused upon reaching L and his eyes slid over to her. Pain hung through them, the kind that haunted both their steps no matter how much time passed. Her hand cupped his shoulder and Cullen reached his fingers up to tug them down tight, needing to feel her to keep going. Was that what he did in those two years she was gone, lost into the fade, dead? Sit around a small pyre and openly weep for her loss because it was the only time the Commander was allowed to break down without anyone wondering why?
As his list ended, Cullen released her fingers so he could join his palms together in one last prayer before staggering to his knees. Red circled his amber eyes, stained and ragged from a lifetime of loss. Forgetting she was mad at him, Lana curled into his chest, his arms rising to close off the embrace and pull her tighter to him. He didn't speak for a minute, only held her while softly tugging at the curls spiraling down her back. Placing his lips against her forehead, Cullen whispered, "You're here."
"I am, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was so..."
"It's not as if I told you any of it. I wanted to...thought it might," he sighed, bumping that wolf nose into the top of her head. "I wanted it to be a surprise so you'd find it delightful. A fun tradition, I suppose. It wasn't right. I never should have..."
"Cullen," her fingers skimmed over the wood pushing it tighter to his cheek, "it's all right. I've been having fun...with some of your family."
He sneered at that, "Angela is a curse upon us all."
Smiling, Lana skirted up on her toes. Letting her cane rest against her side, she touched both his cheeks and whispered, "I like seeing you happy." Turning her head to the right, she moved to kiss him, only to have the damn wolf nose snag again. "Okay, blighted tell me what's up with the masks before I yank them off."
After curling her hair back behind her ear, Cullen placed a kiss to his fingers and then tapped them against Lana's lips when howls shattered the air. "We should move on," he said, "the children will not wait long."
"They're rather known for it," Lana snickered, accepting his offered hand. As they staggered down another path further towards the center of the field, Cullen left his pumpkin to blaze next to the pyre. The only light they had to navigate by was Lana's puny one and, of course, the moon hanging behind a tuffet of clouds. She'd spent some time roaming through farms, in particular as a Warden during the blight, but never at night. A gentle autumn breeze knocked the stalks that by daylight would be almost hypnotizing to watch. In the darkest depths she felt her eyes darting to the edge, watching in fear for something to come shrieking through the stalks to devour them. Maker, a shriek would be just the icing on the cake.
"What did Mia mean about banishing demons?" she asked. Lana turned to realize she was wrapped up in her husband, his arm fully around her shoulder as if to protect her from either cold, the children prancing about as wolves, or whatever invisible horrors lurked in the field.
"Oh that," he chuckled, "hyperbole on her part. I assure you we will not be fighting any demons." Cullen paused and his own assuring eyes suddenly grew dark and slipped around their haunted patch of field. "Least I pray not. I'm woefully out of practice."
"You are? Last time I threw a fireball, it was to burn off dead wood," Lana scoffed. Nearly all of her spells were devoted to healing now, if not herself then the templars in bad enough shape to not notice the mage. Or, okay, there was the occasional tea cup she let fall cold that needed a helping hand, but that hardly counted.
"I am surprised how well you and Mia get along," Cullen paused as another howl echoed through the night, flames lifting in the east as someone's pyre must have lit. "Given your rather acrimonious first meeting."
Lana snorted, "Which was all your fault, you know."
"Believe me, my sister had made me well aware of how I 'botched' that one."
As they turned a tight corner where a scythe only hit half the corn, Cullen tugged her into a second clearing. Much like the first there was a small pyre of sticks topped with stones. He released his hold on her and pointed at it. "This one's yours."
"I..." Lana staggered towards the pyre that he must have built for her while she sat inside. "In the tower, we would light little candles. Small ones that were mostly wick and had to be blown out immediately. I've never done a whole pyre before." For much of her life she didn't have anyone to light a candle for. If her grandparents crossed the veil, she never heard word of it, nor about anyone else in her family. And it wasn't until she grew older that her friends began to fall to either the Harrowing or...worse.
Cullen reached a hand out for her dangling gourd. "May I?" She nodded and he fished it free to hold. "Grab a stick and light it with the candle you carried."
"Was that walk supposed to symbolize something like me walking through this world or carrying life to pass onto the Maker's side?" she asked with a smirk while extending the oil doused stick to her weeping gourd's light.
Her husband shrugged, shifting the fire away from her, "Probably. I never paid too much attention to the symbolism part."
Smiling, Lana tugged up her torch splitting apart the night's sky with a fiery tongue, hobbled to her pyre, and dropped it with the rest. They burst alive, coating the stones that she was fairly certain were supposed to represent the souls who'd crossed the veil to the Maker's side. Hypnotic, like a coin flickering at the bottom of a river, she watched the flames burst across the wood. In her mind she knew she should be saying a prayer, perhaps something from the Chant, but her brain was blank. Her little pyre cracked in half, sending the stones plummeting towards the earth.
Grayson.
That was the first person she ever lit a candle for on All Souls Day. The first person she ever felt as if she lost. Maker, there were so many after. Margie, taken when the tower fell along with nearly everyone else she grew up with. And her Wardens. She never learned if any survived both Corypheus' greedy fingers or Adamant. In truth, Lana feared the answer was none. Even removed from battle and war, she still felt the sting of loss when a patient couldn't withstand the fight and their body faded away.
Tears dripped down the inside of her white mask, pooling where the wood met against her cheek. So much of her life was death, not just giving it but facing it, accepting it, living with it. For years Lana felt as if she breathed death, her steps moved in time with it, the pyre's flames obliterating all she touched. She should have died twice over now. A smile warmed her heart and out of the corner of her eye she caught her husband standing solemnly as he stared at the fire. Thank you Jowan, Nathaniel, Wynne. She didn't mean the real people, but the spirits who stole their faces, who taunted, tormented, and in the end saved her. They weren't dead, but perhaps they needed a guiding thought to survive the fade as much as the real ones.
A howl echoed through the night, snapping Lana from her vigil. Turning to find the child, or perhaps adult giving the power behind it, she watched another pyre's flames dancing through the moonlight. "Are we...?" she tugged on Cullen's hand, needing to feel his flesh beside hers, "Should we howl after lighting it?"
"Ah, traditionally, yes but I always..."
She tipped her head back and let loose a rather pathetic attempt compared to the practiced children. It sounded more like a startled goose, but Lana felt no embarrassment at it. Her heart lightened as if she slipped all her grief into that cry for solidarity and comfort against a hard but sometimes caring world. Cullen tried it himself, his much huskier and fading away as he coughed at the end.
"I'm afraid I was never great at that part and felt sort of..."
Lana tipped her mask up, locked both hands around the back of his neck, and caught him in a kiss. That broken wolf's tooth bit into her cheek, but she didn't care when his warm lips plied hers apart, those sturdy fingers cupping her back as she melded into her husband. They'd both chased death's skirts, clung terrified to what would happen if they let go, and -- over time -- felt brave enough to turn away.
Cullen ran both his callused palms over
her cheeks, his fingers cupping behind her head. "I love you, Mrs. Rutherford."
"And I you, Commander Amell," she smiled, feeling an urge to sway with him in the dark cornfield. At her feet, she watched her mutilated gourd succumb to the fire's heat, its front warping inward leaving behind a surprisingly tempting smell of baked squash. A few more howls broke the air, followed by children's laughter.
Wrapped up in his embrace, watching the severity of death framed as light fought dark while the life of children echoed against the somber call of the pyre, she began to understand what made this holiday so magical. "What happens next?" Lana asked, her fingers tracing over Cullen's scruff. Even worn to a nub from the day's work, her body cried out to touch all of his.
"Well," he was either unaware of her burning desire, or was trying to play coy, "the children run around for awhile howling to close up the veil."
"I didn't realize it was that simple," the mage deadpanned.
He snickered, shaking his head, "Then, they all pick up the water buckets to douse the flames."
"Children are happy to do that?"
"Tucked under each bucket is a few treats to encourage they do a good job. And usually an adult follows them to make certain. Don't want to set the field on fire, after all."
"It's all right," Lana smiled. Rolling her fist, she drew forth a cascade of snow across that very veil they were working hard to shore up, "I might know someone who could stop a fire or two."
Cullen pulled his own wolf mask off revealing that handsome face she fell in love with. He glanced down at it for a moment, his fingers worrying the string, before amber eyes burned through hers. "Lana, thank you."
"For what?" she gasped.
"For all of this, for dealing with my family, for..." his scar lifted up to match a smile, "for being you."
Laughing at his serious turn, she rose up to whisper in his ear, "If everyone's in the field, does that mean the house is empty?"
His eyes blinked in confusion before they shrewdly shot over to hers. "Why Lady Amell, you do have quite a devious mind." She was about to respond when Cullen scooped a hand under her butt and lifted her into his arms. That caused a cascade of giggles as she nuzzled against his tempting and warm embrace.
"Do you really need to carry me?" Lana sighed, not wanting to be let down.
"I thought it best if you...conserve your strength," he whispered next to her ear. With her legs kicking up and down in his arms, Cullen pulled her away from her pyre. That's what it truly was, not a pyre for the dead, but for the person that she once was. The one that lived before loss plucked and pulled wringing pain from her, leaving an entirely new person behind. It took many to make this new Lana, and may they find peace wherever they are.
"Cullen?" she asked, her lips trailing his jawline. "Why wolves?"
Her husband chuckled, "In truth, I haven't any idea. Traditions never make any sense."
Cupping his jaw, Lana tugged his lips to hers for a kiss overflowing with the trademarks of fall: roasted squash, children's laughter, crisp apples, soap bubbles, lit bonfires, and throughout it all, love. Howls echoed through the night, guiding the lost and strengthening the bonds that protected them from the demons of the Fade. Maker only knew what would come next in the world, what horrors would befall the already bruised land, but pain heals and hope clings to the autumn winds.
THE END
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