Prey and Mercy

VIII. Oh, Lady Death, May I Have This Dance?

"How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?"

~ Richard Siken (War of the Foxes)

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The funeral can only be so lavish when the victor goes nameless. The winning family is supposed to pay for the service and if not them then the Children beneath the God of whom took the kill. Only the Children of Odphy have been silent. The coins offered were chipped and lackluster.

Few people stood in the bitter cold rain that afternoon as Harper's body was taken into the Hollow. Thousands of candles blue-lit the entry way along with glowing lunoho runes of Rhymos's name and alabaster white anemones lined the grass. The Children of Death were livid and yet so gentle as to bow their heads, cloaked in black, for another child lost.

I had stood as still as I could. The sharp rain came down, slapping stone, pelting my skin. But all I could see where the flames and the descipals carrying Harper into the darkness no candle could ever light. I didn't own much black but that day I was drowning in it, fighting back the tears that were too hot for my cold temperament.

I was so angry. So bitter.

I hated the cave that stood before me with the souls of my friends, my family...all taken in the name of Odphy. I couldn't hate the goddess but that didn't mean I couldn't hate her children. I swore I would kill Prey and I meant it.

The medical examiner had declared his death an anomalie of the decade and amongst the commonwealth of the gods it's safe to say he had seen his fair share of unorthodoxy. Although, every once in a while there is that one degenerate soul fed off of overcompetency that takes it too far. In this case, it was a three-fold death, unheard of since the early medieval century; bruises along the throat, skull caved in, heart ripped from the chest cavity.

And there was no one to blame.

But I made up for it.

I walked home that night with a dagger stuffed up my sleeve and a heart full of enkindled vengeance. I had hoped Prey would show. If he had I would have slit his throat then and there. The Gods know my blood was pumping for it.

For his sake, I never saw him.

I can still feel the heat of the flames and the driving force of the rain. In my memories I'm surging forward toward the Hollow, reaching for what's left of Harper and there's no one to hold me back. Just a growing mass of death and darkness following me at my heals.

For once in my life I feel like a child of Death. For once I pray that Rhymos takes care of him. When I look at my fellow lesser gods I can feel the cord doubled over. With a passing gaze there's raw solidarity. Harper meant something to all of us.

A week passes but I'm still wearing hues darker than grey.

"Let me paint your nails." Milena pushes my porceilin plate away. There's concern in her autumn brown eyes. She's trying to make me feel better, swimming the gulf between me and the night of the full moon.

"I like the black. It's suits me." I say.

Idris and Milena share a look. He bites into an apple with his partizan eyes, juice dripping from his lips. "There's a rumor going around that you blame Prey for his death." Milena eyebrows shoot up but he just shrugs.