Chapter (Goodbyes)
As if he were the pope himself Matthew knelt in the damp grass alongside each and every body until the blood had soaked through his pants at the knees. Placing them on their backs, he crossed each of their arms, and closed their eyes before blessing them and moving on.
He was almost done when Michael called to him for a status report.
“Just a few more minutes,” he hollered back across the field. They'd been going for hours taking their time and giving each of the slain the respect they deserved.
It was the third to last body that he presided over. Kneeling in the sticky grass, he rolled the body of an older boy onto his back. It was Tommy that lie staring up at him. His throat slit deep and wide, his eyes cold and vacant.
Reaching blindly out behind him Matt's hand probed for anything suitable. When his finger finally wrapped around the surface a smooth sun baked stone he drew his hand back. Propping Tommy's head atop the rock like pillow he did his best to at least partially conceal the deep gash in his friend's throat. He folded Tommy's arms, which where caked in blood down to his fingernails, and closed his eye.
“Good bye Tommy. Good bye my friend,” he said, fresh tears stinging at his eyes.
Finishing his blessing he moved on, tending to the final two bodies as he had all the others.
A weary red eyed boy walked back across the field towards Michael, wiping clods of blood soaked dirt away from his knees and palms. Michael waited for him at the far end of the field in a dirt patch, not completely devoid of blood spatter.
He too had busied himself that afternoon, gathering three large barrels of the monk's lamp oil. Two others had been used in full the night before, and the landscape still bared the full black ashen blemish of their effect.
Following in Mathew's footsteps the angel had soaked the entire field with yet another goop. There were far too many for them to conceivably bury, and subconsciously it was what Matt had been expecting from the start.
“I'm ready,” he said, speaking with conviction.
“We'll head up to the bluff,” Michael said, pointing to Northwest of the encampment towards the foot hills of the mountains, “Over the river, so we can watch. And say good bye.”
Matt simply nodded his weary acknowledgment. Blinking his tired red eyes several times over, though no more tears would come.
Michael rolled the right sleeve of his robe up past the elbow and crouched at Matthew's side. Placing a flattened palm against the Earth he called to the current. Blue-green flames leaped from his fingertips and the field was instantly alight.
At once Matt could feel the blistering heat pouring out from the flames. Before his eyes had time to adjust he felt his feet leaving the ground. Michael's arms hooked deep under his own, the angel's hands clasping gently over top his heart.
The angel carried the two of them off in the direction of the bluff, opposite the wind. Quickly gaining altitude they soared high above the field, which was now fully ablaze. When they touched down on the plateau Matthew couldn't peel his gaze away from the monumental funeral pyre
“It's kind of beautiful you know?” Matt said, not bothering to raise his voice over the gentle wind. He could no longer cry, and in a way he was happy, “It's like they're leaving, rising with the smoke, away from here.”
“Child, they are already gone. Rejoining the current with their last breaths. They are with the Father now. Home,” Michael assured him.
“I'm going to miss them,” Matt added nostalgically.
“Your friends are more a part of you now than ever. Lift a stone and they will be there. Split a log and you shall find them. Your friends live on in the current, and in your connection to it. To all life,” Michael assured him.
Warmed by Michael's words and the breeze from the fire Matthew let go. Falling into the embrace of sleep his weary young mind once again let night slip back towards day in a dreamless serenity.
