Chapter 7 - Through the Wind

Sar'tara found it hard to decide whether she wanted to wail or throw up. Freya lay in her arms. But everywhere she looked, she saw a corpse. The air was heavy with the stench of blood. The same smell that arose from an animal that had its throat slit now came from the bodies of the women. All of them siblings. Sar'tara cupped Freya's cheek in one hand, seeking solace in her smile.

Kiali, the same woman she had labelled as cruel and emotionless, wept silently next to Mina's lifeless form. Mina's death had been the equivalent of having a knife plunged into Sar'tara's heart. Knowing of Freya's passing made it feel as if someone had just rent that knife out as viciously as possible. She acted as a replacement to Ny'Danis. To everyone younger than her, Freya was a second mother.

Sar'tara threw her head back and screamed. "Ny'Danis, why? Why did it have to come to this?"

Stel'Na rested a hand upon her shoulder. "Tara, there will be plenty of time to mourn. We have work that needs doing."

Sar'tara turned to face her. The eldest had an unreadable expression. No sadness. No anger. Just a blank and wearied face. Sar'tara thought it emotionless at first. But she then remembered that Stel'Na had suffered a war before. It wasn't that she was uncompassionate. She was tired. Tired to the point that she couldn't even shed tears.

"I thought I would have enjoyed holding my bow again," Stel'Na said. "No part of felling my fellow sisters was enjoyable. But it was necessary. We need to cremate everyone and scatter their ashes. Come along, Tara. Your back needs ointment rubbed over it or the wound will fester. I'll check everyone's wounds and we can get to work. Mourn all you like after that."

Sar'tara stared up at Stel'Na. Her voice felt hollow and distant. As if it were slowly ceasing to exist. She eventually nodded, but her tears did not stop flowing. She had to constantly wipe them away, smearing blood and salt water across her face. She walked over to Kiali and knelt down. Kiali gasped between breaths, her eyes, red and wet. She pressed her mouth to Sar'tara's shoulder and screamed as hard as her lungs would allow. Kiali had more bottled sorrow than she let on and was finally letting it go. Sar'tara gently brushed her smooth hair. "It's alright."

"It's not alright, Tara. It's not. So many died. I tried. I tried holding it in, tried masking it with anger, but… I couldn't. Seeing Mina get… by our own sister no less," Kiali squeezed Sar'tara's hands. "I'm so tired, Tara. Tired of everything. Of living. Why would Mother allow this?"

"I don't know," Sar'tara whispered. I don't know. "Come Sister. The longer these bodies remain here, the more torment their souls suffer. We must scatter their ashes through the wind so that their souls can return to Ny'Danis,"

To the Mother who cared for us, raised us, and then…abandoned us. And yet, I'd still give the world to be held by you again, Mother.

"The more we cry, the more pain the dead feel," Sar'tara said. Ny'Danis had her reasons. She had to. A few stronger Guardians was worth all the sacrifice. To preserve the entirety of the forest from an outside threat. But what outside threat? It had been centuries since wicked men had last besieged the forest, seeking the Divine Artifacts in Ny'Danis' possession. Maybe the wickedness had passed. Maybe there was no longer a reason to protect the forest. No reason to sacrifice so many lives. Maybe… Maybe Mother is wrong.

Sar'tara got to her feet and lumbered about with a hunched back. Ny'Danis couldn't be wrong. If she were wrong, then her daughters' existence had no meaning. She was the Forest Deity. A being created by the Creator. A being that had lived for thousands of years. Had thousands of years' worth of knowledge and wisdom. No. She couldn't be wrong. I'm wrong for even questioning this.

But all of the deaths. All of the mindless killing…

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No! Sar'tara violently shook her head, pushing such thoughts away. Everyone slowly rose to their feet and set to work. Dried branches and sticks were gathered and placed at the village center. Two separate cremation beds were created; one for the fallen Selharr, and another larger one for the many Kreiva. Sar'tara sat down heavily upon a stone stool for a brief rest, her face stiff from the dried blood and tears. The subtlest of movements with her lips or eyes stretched her skin and caused sharp pains. Stel'Na approached her, a small clay jar of ointment in her hand. She knelt down and started gently applying it to Sar'tara's back. It stung as if a handful of gravel were being smeared upon it. "Sister, is Mother…"

"Is Mother what?"

"Nothing," Sar'tara said, closing her eyes. "I just wish she would come here. Wish I could be held by her…"

"I would like to cry in her arms as well," Stel'Na said, voice cracking.

"Can you not go see her?"

"And leave you all here while I alone received comfort for my sorrows?"

Sar'tara spoke no further, sensing cracks in Stel'Na's mask. If the eldest were to break down, the rest would follow. Once everyone had been treated, the remaining villagers began bringing the bodies of their fallen siblings and placing them upon the bed of wooden branches. Kreiva Vashiri were the most difficult to move. More so for the ones that had fallen into pits. The adults among the Selharr were few. Only six remained and they were all exhausted. The younger girls had a difficult time moving so much weight. The cruel state that many corpses were in caused all the Selharr, Stel'Na included, to empty their stomachs at least once.

Dusk was fast approaching. Sar'tara knelt before Freya's body and placed a kiss on her forehead before carrying it to the bed of wood. What was left of the Selharr Vashiri washed themselves at the spring in preparation for the funeral. The blood stained forest floor cleansed itself as the soil absorbed all of the red splattered against leaves of plants and tree trunks. In their place, budding flowers grew to full maturity within seconds. A blessing of the Forest Deity. The Papillion Forest existed through Ny'Danis. It was her life force that allowed all things to grow and bloom. That same life force existed in the blood of her daughters.

The stench of a battlefield faded and was replaced by the sweet and strong scent of everflowers. Their petals opened and their luminous properties shone bright. Torna with their black crescent petals and spots of glowing violet. Shade-wisp, a royal blue flower with glowing pale blue edges on its five curved petals. Sitril, a scarlet flower with four triangular petals and glowing blue pistils. Kresip with its soft white petals and bright yellow center. It made for a gorgeous sight. It would be just that for any new girls that Ny'Danis would one day send to the village. But for those that were already there, it would be a constant reminder of a gruesome battle.

The villagers gathered at the village center and stood in a single line organized by age whilst holding each other's hands. Stel'Na lit the funeral pyres and took her position at one end of the line. Everyone began humming in a low voice. Vashiri saw their dead off with a wordless song. Voices of the living would aid the souls of the fallen through the dark of the afterlife. At the end of that long path, their Mother awaited them. Those that failed to reach the end would be stuck in a boundless umbra for all eternity. Or so the belief went. No one knew for certain. Ny'Danis never answered questions regarding death.

Kiali gripped Sar'tara's hand tight. Everyone's eyes were closed. Sar'tara had no doubt that her sister was crying still. Her own voice began to fumble as the lump in her throat returned. She paused for a breath and swallowed before continuing the low voiced hum. The Selharr stood fixated in a single position until the crackling of flames could no longer be heard. Until the glowing light before them died.

Stel'Na broke away from the line. "Gather the ashes of the Kreiva and store them in empty clay pots. With none returning to their village, they will know that they have lost. Their young and perhaps a few elders will likely be here tomorrow to claim them. Scatter those of our own through the wind. Then, you can all cry the night away. But…" Stel'Na suddenly coughed. It seemed forced. "But remember your pride as daughters of the forest. Your pride as hunters. We drink to honor the dead of both sides. We drink to celebrate their memories and strength. The Vashiri do not mourn the dead for more than a day. Any tears shed after tonight will be disrespectful to the memories of those fallen. And remember, the battle is over. We do not hold grudges against our own siblings. We will feast with the Kreiva tomorrow and be rid of any harsh feelings we may have."

Stel'Na stormed off into the storehouse and began setting wooden bowls and filling them with drink. Sar'tara thought she saw a glint of light in her eldest sister's eye. The kind of glint caused by moonlight bouncing off of water. Stel'Na's mask was on the verge of shattering. Her eyes were full of imprisoned tears begging to be let out. She would spend the night drinking to drown away her sorrow rather than drink in celebration. As would everyone else.

Not a single more word was spoken that night. The Selharr resigned themselves to silent weeping or drinking. Or both.