Chapter Thirty
At the outskirts of Winchester, the clear sky opened over a modestly-kept cemetery. The wrought-iron fence, which seems as if it had seen better times, surrounded sparsely-grassed plots; its posts leaned and rose randomly. The intricate runs of spiraling black iron were splattered with rusty splotches of century’s medals or desperately hugged by native vines. Final resting places of the dead were marked with wind-worn crosses, and gravestones speckled the hallowed ground.
An unearthed plot waited silently under a leafless maple while a small crowd huddled near the dark pit.
I perched in the maple and could see the entire procession as it arrived—all tear-streaked faces or far-off looks.
A hearse backed up to the cemetery gate where six men waited, heads bent in two lines of varying hues. Fallon stood next to his dad, Dwayne, peeking in and out of the suit jacket his family bought just for this occasion. The young boy kept looking over at his father who blankly stared at the frosty grass. Fallon kept his hands clasped behind his back like the rest of the men around him.
Quinn, who stood across from Fallon, winced whenever he tried to readjust his stance. It was not just the uncomfortable black suit and tie that made him so uneasy; he was still healing from wounds received from the Leanan, Holly, and was lucky he escaped that encounter with his life. I helped bring him back from near-death, but I Quinn was resilient. After all, he single-handedly overcame the power Holly held over his heart and even beheaded her with Aberdeen’s Axe.
Quinn no longer suffered from the shaking which had plagued him since he first met Holly. No longer did his body fight with itself for control, now that he was freed.
Next to Quinn, a silver-haired man, who I assumed was one of the grandfathers, reverently stood with his hands crossed in front of him. Another middle-aged man stood next to grandpa. He could be another one of Aidan’s uncles. But I recognized the man who hid his bald head under a black knit beanie. Keiran, who helped at the Siege of the Northern Gateway, stood next to Aidan’s dad.
Quinn told me how he explained Aidan’s death to his parents with a handful of lies. While Quinn wanted to tell his brother that his son died for a purpose, his duty as Keeper would not allow honesty. So, Aidan went swimming and drowned. The branches that entangled him left scratches over his pale body. That’s the story they were given.
Quinn also had a strong talk with Kaylee and Fallon, guaranteeing their silence with magic’s help. Keiran helped arrange the funeral, easing the Tanner family’s pain.
Silently the back door of the hearse swung open to reveal the end of his wooden coffin.
I wanted to fly away, but I had to see through to the final moments. I told him I would be there, and I had to at least say goodbye to his physical form.
The men pulled the brown box from the car, fluidly hefting it up on their shoulders. Fallon struggled to hold his side up over his head. Slowly they walked across the uneven ground, black shoes and work-boots stepping in time with one another, the box floating next to their heads toward the waiting crowd.
Aidan’s mom dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief, and Kaylee folded her arms as though she could squeeze her chest tight enough to keep out the pain. Other grey-haired family members were sprinkled among the waiting crowd, and a group of four young men stood together – awkwardly fidgeting with their jackets.
Must be his friends from school, I thought. I continued to survey the group and place them in my mind.
The box made its way through the crowd and was carefully lowered onto the frame which would eventually lower the coffin.
I hadn’t known what to expect when I arrived at the cemetery that chilly May morning, the wind biting at my face like the coldness which tugged at my chest. I never attended a human funeral before. But still I remained in the bare boughs, watching intently. If closure was needed, this was the closest I would come to moving on. Sidhe traditions had nothing to offer for mourning the dead.
The pallbearers stood back with the crowd, watching as Quinn stepped forward to officiate. His gruff voice carried over the cemetery, praying words to the blue skies.
“Give Aidan’s body safe rest in Thy hallowed ground. May his soul find peace in Thy arms. We ask Thee for comfort in our time of need.”
Quinn’s voice faded and cracked, his sniffling nose twitching to stave off tears.
I swooped down from my perch and alighted at the top of a nearby crucifix, listening intently.
Quinn muttered a few more words, followed by an “Amen” which echoed through the crowd.
Aidan’s school friends unpinned white roses from their lapels and lay them on top of the coffin. Their faces were a variety of stolid looks, tear-streaked cheeks, and uncomfortable smiles. Voices whispered as they said goodbye to their childhood friend whose life was taken too soon.
For an hour I waited as the crowd said their goodbyes and embraced one another over the loss. The crowd dispersed slowly, Aidan’s father the last one to depart. As he walked past the coffin, he placed one hand on the corner and muttered, “I should have been here.” And then he shuffled out of the cemetery, joining the rest of his family in the idling minivan.
I hopped off the gravestone and toward the coffin.
I felt a presence over my shoulder, slinking from behind a gray obelisk. A marmalade cat stalked toward me, its head low to the ground. I hopped forward, but still it followed. Ever so slowly, I turned to the predator that now trailed me.
The minivan exited the tiny dirt parking lot as the cat stalked.
I poised to leap in flight, but then the cat stopped its walking and simply sat down. I paused, head cocked as I stared at the unusual cat. It was interrupting my moment to say goodbye to the boy whose death I helped call forth.
“Don’t worry. He’s on the other side,” the cat spoke with a female voice.
My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you?” I asked.
“The one whose place you’ll be taking very soon,” the cat said, pausing to lick her paw.
“You are Sidhe, then?”
The cat smiled. “Of course. What other cat would be able to talk?”
I considered the striped cat. “If I’m supposed to take your place, as you say, then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to tell me your name?”
“I guess not.” The cat snickered and flicked its tail. “I’m Aidan’s birth mother, Erin.”
I staggered backward before catching myself.
I knew there was something odd about the way Aidan was able to overcome Holly’s powers and succeed in placing the Kelpie egg in its nest. Now it was making sense. It would also explain how Aidan was able to escape the mountain in the first place.
“So, you’re Queen of the Sidhe?” I asked, unbelieving it could be Her.
“Yes,” she replied. “And when you accept your duty, I’ll step aside so you may take my place as Queen.” The cat paced, its golden eyes trained on me. “When you’re ready, of course.”
“And if I’m never ready?” I defiantly asked.
The cat circled and jumped on top of a gravestone and turned back. “You will be, Morgan. You will be.”
“And Aidan?” I still desperately hoped for him.
“He’s fine,” she casually replied.
“How do you know?”
But as soon as the question escaped my mouth, the cat leapt into the air, its form twisting and expanding until it was replaced by an enormous winged lioness. Two strokes of its feathered wings and the lion soared above the reaching arms of the hemlock forest, its face turning back one last time.
“I just know,” she growled through the air, and then she was gone.
I turned back to the coffin, and it was as though I could see through the wood and view Aidan’s mask-like face. I still remembered the look on his face when I pulled him from the water.
“That’s not him,” I whispered, staring at the cold box that was laden with an arrangement of white funeral flowers. “Not him,” I reminded myself
. The words dug into my chest, leaving no rest.
I soared from the cemetery, wings beating the air and swatting away the guilt which plagued me night and day.
As I circled the skies, slowly making my way south to Finias, I couldn’t keep from thinking about Aidan.
How can humans do this? Year in and year out, how can they keep building relationships just to see someone ripped away? Why even bother?
When will the feeling subside? When will the pain bury itself inside me like the husk of that Aidan lies in the cold ground?
If something is buried, can one move on? Or does it just mask the loss that can never be replaced?