The sun was setting, bringing a chill in the breeze that Leawyn didn’t feel, even as it caressed her skin and hair. Everything within her was numb. Her sons, Xillik, Ryder, Rhoxon, and Hunter surrounded her, standing close. Xillik on her right, Hunter beside him, with the twins behind her. Her youngest was on her left, clutching her hand tightly. She could feel the tremors wracking her daughter’s small frame as she tried to quell her crying, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort her.
She couldn’t bring herself to do anything but watch through dead eyes as Tyronian and Tristan stepped forward. Their expressions were etched in grief as, together, they gave the boat that was on shore a shove, trudging through the waves and sending it away.
Her eyes never left it, even as Xillik turned to her.
“You should do it,” he whispered roughly.
She looked up at him slowly. His eyes, so much like his father’s, glistened with the promise of tears he refused to shed, but his face was otherwise expressionless. Her boy was strong. Not because he wanted to be, but because he knew he needed to be. She smiled sadly, resting her withered hand upon his cheek, while the other grasped what he offered. His eyes closed, accepting her silent comfort, and his moment of what he thought was weakness. When they opened again, the emotion in them from before was gone.
Warrior eyes.
With a nod, he stepped back, and resumed his place among his siblings. She stepped forward, notching an arrow as she went and dipped it in the fire, making sure it soaked the oil. Her hands, though old and weaker than in her youth, didn’t shake when she pulled the bowstring back.
The fire made a flickering sound when the arrow released, and it took mere moments for it to land. It created a small flame within the boat.
There was a moment of silence, then the sky lit up with the valley of flame-tipped arrows that flew overhead, hundreds of them following the path that hers did before.
Wordlessly, she watched as the boat carrying her husband’s body engulfed in flames; burning away his flesh, and with it…her heart.
Everyone had left.
His father might not have been the most compassionate man, but he was respected greatly. It seemed that half the villages of the other tribes showed up to his funeral. His family had stood with him. All his uncles, and cousins, and siblings, Torrick and Alissowyn and their children, Kade and his wife.
Everyone was there.
They had stayed long after the sun set, but slowly, the crowd began to disperse until only his kin had stayed with him, but they, too, began to leave. His uncle Tristan being the last. He clapped his shoulder, red-rimmed eyes meeting his. No words were spoken between them, because they didn’t need to. He knew.
Take care of her, his uncle’s eyes had said. She needs you now.
Xillik stared at his mother’s back, who was standing in the same position she was in after she shot the first arrow. Usually, it was the eldest son who would shoot the first ceremonial arrow for the fallen warrior chief. But, his family was never one to follow traditions, and it would be foolish of him to start now.
Everyone knew that the rightful honor belonged to his mother.
His mother, who’s grief was more potent than his own. He studied her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. His mother’s beauty was a thing of legend, something that never diminished. But now, he was starting to notice things that had been there from the beginning, but that he was too ignorant to see.
She had always been small, tiny even. But now as he looked upon her, she seemed frail. Breakable. Her hair was long and floated in the wind, the gusts blowing the strands that were once bright blonde, but now a dull white. Her spine, which had always stood tall, and proud, was now bent; folded over in age and despair.
He hated it…but he expected it.
When word was sent that his father was fading, he had rushed to his side. But by the time he got there, his mother was clutching his body and sobbing.
He was too late.
He had been sick for months, Namoriee had told him.
His parents never said a word.
It all happened in a blur after that, and now here he stood. On a beach staring after a woman who stared after a boat that had long since burned away.
He sighed quietly, giving himself a moment to compose himself and gather strength for what he would have to do, before he moved.
“Mother,” he said softly, grabbing her hand. “It’s time to go back home.”
It was like she didn’t even hear him.
“Mother,” he pleaded. Squeezing her hand in his. “Let me take you home now.”
She ignored him, and just when he thought he would have to forcibly carry her away, she showed the first sign of life by speaking.
“He was my home, Xillik,” she said, the words dripped with sorrow so profound it made his eyes sting.
She didn’t say anything else, just turned and allowed him to escort her back to her room.
It was silent between them, even after he helped relieve her of her shoes, and tucked her into bed, pulling the bed-furs high to her chin. He treated her like a child, and it broke his heart because she was anything but. He kissed her brow, but the hand on his cheek stopped him from standing after he pulled away. He met his mother’s gaze.
“He was proud of you.”
He tried not to let her words affect him, to let her see the bitterness he could taste in his mouth.
He tried to smile, but couldn’t. “I know in his own way he was, mother. You don’t need to do this.”
She didn’t reply, just scanned his face like she was trying to etch it into her memory. “I know he put pressure on you. He expected more from you, so he pushed you harder than any of his other sons. But he was proud of you, Xillik, because you are the leader he never could have been.”
“And what kind of leader is that?”
She smiled sadly. “Kind.”
Emotion clogged his throat, and he had to swallow it down so that his voice didn’t crack when he said, “get some sleep.” He kissed her cheek again before standing. “I’ll check on you in the morning.” He blew out the candle by her bed and turned for the door.
“Xillik,” she called, prompting him to look back at her. “I’m proud of you, too. You were my first great accomplishment. You know that, right?”
He smiled. “I know, mother. Your love was never something I questioned.”
His unspoken truth made her expression turn sad. He never doubted his mother’s love, but he did doubt his father’s. It was a secret he would keep to his grave, sans this moment. It made him feel weak, like a little boy pathetically vying for his father’s approval that he knew he would never give.
“Watch out for them,” his mother said, bringing back his attention. “Especially Lévaunia.”
He frowned, a few urgent steps propelling him forward. “Mother—” he started, worried.
Something about her tone made it seem like a goodbye.
“She’s suffering, Xi. He was the sun to her.”
He nodded in understanding. His father and little sister shared a bond that none of his brother’s shared. He had only see him father show tenderness a few times in his life, and it was always with his mother or sister.
“I’ll always watch out for them. Just like I’ll always watch out for you,” he promised. His concern grew when his mother’s eyes glistened with fresh tears.
“Please don’t cry,” he said softly, coming to her bedside again. She grabbed his hand from off her cheek and held it, staring him in the eyes.
“I love you, Xi. You’re a good son to worry, but I’ll be fine soon.”
Her last sentence confused him, but instead of responding, he simply accepted the kiss she gave his cheek. She dropped his hands with a squeeze when he stood, and with one last wish of goodnight, he closed the door and left.
When he came to collect her the next morning, she was gone. No one said it out loud, but they didn’t have to because the last thing she said to him made sense now.
His parents shared a love that no one had understood. It was brutal, passionate, and true. They were two beings who shared a soul, however broken they might have been.
Leawyn couldn’t live with half of her soul gone.
His father was her heart, and it refused to beat without him.