Twelve ✧ A Final Rite

                                    

                                          
CONTENT WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THEMES OF FAMILY LOSS WHICH MAY BE UPSETTING FOR SOME READERS.

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"I share your sorrow."
How could you possibly know my sorrow? Jiro looked sideways at the Kavisera.
They both stood on leveled ground on the top of the tepui. The Aradacko gathered around them like a circle of intertwining red and black weaves and brown skin. Their feathers ruffled in the breeze. This high, the wind was cold, a perfect match for the burning sun.
At the center of their assembly, Nana Ricka rested on a bier, clothed in zarok, a sleeved dress with a skirt that flowed to her ankles. Colorful stones from both the earth and the sea decorated her neck.
"I understand that this is hard for you," the Kavisera said, placing a hand on Jiro's shoulder. "Your mother is no longer in pain. She lived a good life, and she was happy. She was proud of you as her son, and so was your father. Honor her and give her this funeral. Let her soul ascend, and let her be with your father once more."
Jiro felt a pang of hatred—anger—unsure of what he was furious at, still clinging to a false hope. Denial. They had all come to be with him today, to witness this funeral. They had all given their comfort, sharing his sorrow. But it didn't mean anything to him, for he didn't want this. What he desired was for his mother to be alive.
He stood at the side of the bier with the Kavisera. Four other men joined them, men he'd known his whole life but whose faces blurred with his tears. When he bent down to hold the bier's handle, the others followed him and did the same. They all lifted Nana Ricka on their shoulders to begin the procession.
The Aradacko burned their dead right after the time of their passing, their final rite to ascend to the afterlife and to be with their family who passed before them.
As a tradition, the Aradacko didn't fly to the pyre. They carried their dead on foot to remember their pain when they passed to the afterlife. A reminder that in the face of death, they were vulnerable, and their abilities were futile. It was the way of the flyers.
The people of Aradack marched behind the bier as they carried Jiro's mother to the plateau's highest point. It was a short distance, but the gesture was deserved, showing respect and love for Nana Ricka.
They reached a clearing where trees barricaded on one side, the jagged cliffs reached out like claws to a sea of clouds on the other, and the clear blue sky domed above.
A pile of dried wood and grass was prepared for a pyre. They lifted the bier, setting Nana Ricka on top of it. The men stepped back except for Jiro, who waited beside his mother. He studied her face, memorizing the calm of her closed eyes. Her lips slightly curved in a smile. He captured all her features—the round of her forehead, the tip of her small nose, and the point of her chin.
The Kavisera walked up to Jiro and handed him a lit torch. The flame whispered with the wind as Jiro gripped the rough wooden handle.
Every movement Jiro took, every second, felt like a weight of great density. He stayed there for a long moment, mustering the courage to burn his mother and let her go. And the Aradacko waited patiently behind him. The clouds beyond the cliff gathered closer until the wind stilled as if giving Jiro the opportunity of release.
He clenched his teeth and finally dipped the flames into the dried wood that quickly caught the blaze. The fire crawled over the base of the pyre, climbed up to the bier, and reached Nana Ricka. Edges of bright sparks poked at her dress and her skin.
Jiro wanted to look away, but he stayed there, too close to the fire that he could feel the pain of the heat. His eyes remained on his mother's face until the flames entirely consumed her. Her smoke, her soul floated to the skies.
You are with papa now.



                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          

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