Shadow Reaper (Shadowlands Series) (16 page)

Clay clutched a yellow rose. The roses always grew better than any fruit or vegetable. No one knew why, it just was. Ash loved the yellow roses as a kid, was completely fascinated by them.

He approached the coffin, made from wood and painted white, and placed the yellow rose on it. Every movement seemed so alien. The fool in him was screaming, telling him there was no way that was Ash in the coffin. He only wished the words of the fool were true.

He sat numbly next to Blake in the front row, occupied only by the two of them.

A draft tickled the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder to see Mother Barbara enter the chamber. She was dressed in flowing crimson robes. Her long, silver curls fell down to her waist, and her sapphire eyes sparkled in the candlelight. She was holding a Book of the Word.

With a small smile at Clay, she took her place at the pulpit to the right of the coffin. The members of the Order all bowed in respect to the Mother.

“Gathered friends,” Barbara said. Her voice was powerful and carried well. She had a quality about her that struck awe in the people, as well as fear. “We are here today to say goodbye to our dearly beloved Ashling. She was so full of courage, a fearless Reaper, who cared deeply for her people. No one can deny her tenacity to succeed, nor her charming free spirit. We have lost a treasure.” Barbara’s eyes met Clay’s. “But we must not be lost in shadows, dear friends. Death has struck, but the Mother is here to soothe you. She speaks words of comfort, she reaches out to you with hands that heal. And you
will
heal, there will
always
be healing. The Mother is always here.” Her eyes didn’t leave Clay. “Ashling’s dear brother, Clayton, wears the Robes of Mourning. But we must not let grief carry him away from the Mother’s light. We must embrace the Word, let it flow from us to him.”

Only his mother used to call him Clayton.

“Ashling has embarked on a new journey.”

Clay couldn’t look at her any longer. He bowed his head, staring at the floor, wishing the fool’s voice would shut up, wishing that Ash would burst out of the coffin.

“The Word is the way, Clayton,” Barbara said. “You will heal.”

Clay didn’t look up. Blake stroked his back.

“Now we sing for Ashling. Please stand.”

The gathered did as was asked.

“Clay has requested the hymn ‘The Seas of the Next’ in memory of his sister.”

Everyone knew the hymn. Everyone knew all of the hymns. There were thirteen in total and the Order made sure to sing them at every gathering.

Mother Barbara led the singing. Clay looked up to see her eyes focused on him. He hated being under her scrutiny. Why was she watching him so intently? If she thought she could somehow indoctrinate him into joining the Order, she had another thing coming. He had always believed in the Word. It was woven in to the fabric of his existence. However, he was struggling to find any sort of comfort with Ash’s dead body in the room.

He didn’t really think Mother Barbara would see him as a vulnerable specimen, ripe for the plucking to join the Order. She didn’t do that. Folk went to her when they needed to become a part of it. Everyone had their place.

What’s my place now?
His sister was gone. His hope was gone. A person couldn’t hold on to emptiness, but being empty was all there was. He didn’t want anything else but Ash. If he couldn’t have her, there was nothing else.

The hymn was over.

“Please be seated,” Mother Barbara said. “Now, we will have some reflection time. Please feel free to light a candle, or take solace in the Word from the books under your feet. This is the time for you all to think about what Ashling meant to you.”

From within her crimson robe, Barbara pulled out a violet candle. She lit it on a stationary candle. The chamber quickly filled with a sweet scent, like Clay imagined violets would smell. He remembered it was supposed to allow the recently departed an easy transition.

All of his memories were flashing across his mind: their childhood, their parents, Ash insisting on doing something that Clay knew they’d get into trouble for—on so many occasions. He was, as she would often say, her voice of reason. He hadn’t always liked that, it made him sound boring. But most the time, he kind of loved it. He liked being her anchor.

I’ve failed her.

This isn’t real.

The emptiness was ebbing. There was so much swirling around in his head, and the violet scent was becoming overpowering.

He picked up the Book of the Word from under the pew. It was well worn, dog-eared, and yellowing. He cracked it open at random, falling to a passage from Chapter XV:
Lies are poisonous blooms. Often they are beautiful flowers, there to deceive. Their perfume shrouds the soul from the truth. No matter their intention, a lie is a deadly flower.

Clay closed the book and looked up. Barbara’s eyes were still fixed on him. She didn’t smile, just watched him as if he were her prey.

Blake put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“This isn’t real,” Clay said.

Blake squeezed him. “I’m so sorry, Clay. I know I keep saying it . . . I wish I could take away the pain.”

“Thank you for being here.”

“Of course. Always.”

This isn’t real.

He shook his head. He wished he could shut the voice down. It would burn out eventually. The coffin was there, right there, with Ash inside. His sister . . . mutilated . . . dead.

This isn’t real

He looked back at Barbara, who had her head lowered. Finally.

“Please stand,” Mother Barbara said. “The Order will now carry Ashling to the burial chamber. I will lead the procession, with Clayton behind me. I ask you all to follow.”

“Are you ready?” Blake said.

No. “Yes.” This was it, the final march to the end of everything.

The Order lifted the coffin, and Barbara took her position. She had another violet candle in her hand.

Clay took his place behind her. She handed him the other candle.

“Thank you,” he said.

She nodded. “Begin,” she said.

The Order began the slow walk.

Clay focused on the candle’s dancing flame, but from the corner of his eye, he could see the folk at the side-lines, watching the procession in silence. The descent of the stone stairway, which led into the burial chamber was the worst. With each step, he was getting closer to the finale. He didn’t want the moment to end. As long as there were, stairs he wouldn’t have to see the next part.

But the stairs had run out, and he was standing before the furnace. A huge monstrous beast that would devour Ash’s remains until she was reduced to . . . well . . . ash.

“And so we reach the final resting place of Ashling’s earthly body,” Mother Barbara said.

The Order lowered the coffin slowly onto the conveyor belt that would take it into the furnace.

“Goodbye, Ashling. So we commit your body to cleansing fire. No more pain, dear one. Be safe in your journey. The Mother blesses you and loves you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Clay said.

This isn’t real . . .

Goodnight, the word he didn’t want to say. But he’d said it and it was real. Ash was gone. The whirr of the conveyor belt filled the room and the coffin began its inexorable journey toward the gaping furnace.

This isn’t real . . .

He turned and started to walk away.

Blake was at his side within moments. “Clay?”

“I need to get out of here.”

The air was too thick, that damn violet smell was too much, and Ash was about to go up in smoke. Her essence would be pumped into the air outside. Outside, the place she loved best. No more cages, no more Shelter. She was free and he was alone.

“You want me to come with you?” Blake said.

“No. I just need to be alone. I can’t watch that.”

“I’m so sorry, Clay.”

This isn’t real . . .

“So am I. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.” He sighed. “Please, I just have to go.”

This isn’t real . . .

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“You sure you’re okay on your own?”

“I just need to be alone.”

Blake reached out and touched his right cheek. “I get it. You need some space.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you need me, you tell me. You’re not alone.”

There was that flash in Blake’s eyes again, just like he’d seen before. It made his nerves twang and his stomach churn, but he still couldn’t place what it was.

“I love you,” Blake said.

“I-I love you,” Clay said. He would never get to say those words to his sister again.

Clay made his way back up the stairs.

This isn’t real.

“Ash is gone,” he said.

My bar shift was cancelled. I don’t know why, but Henry barely looked at me when I walked past on the way to my new assignment. I raised a hand in greeting, and he turned away, offering me his back. I caught a glimpse of a nervous-looking Julie hovering behind him. She caught my eye and shrugged, looking as baffled as I was.

It looked like they’d swapped me out for her. I can’t say I wasn’t a little put out. I mean, I’d spent ages learning the ropes and it’d been quite educational. Henry had been really sweet, so what had gone wrong? Was it the Caroline incident? He’d withdrawn into himself after that—that’s when things had gone strange. Now I was on kitchen duty.

I wish I knew what I’d done to piss him off.

Oh, well. I still had a shift to complete and a plan to come up with while I did it.

I pushed through the blue door by the bar that led to the corridor where the medical room was. The door was closed when I passed, but Freya had given me precise directions. I had to go all the way down the corridor and through the huge black metal door. I could see it up ahead, the surface all knotted and weird.

I came to a standstill before it, knocked and waited.

Seconds passed and no one answered. I knocked again. Still no answer. Well, I’d already pissed off one staff member; I guess I could try for a second.

I turned the handle and pushed the door. It swung open easily, well oiled and silent. I stepped into the room beyond. The door closed itself behind me with a soft click, but I was too awestruck to care.

The room I’d stepped into was like nothing I’d ever seen in any magazine or book I had found. It was low ceilinged, homey, cluttered, and was as cosy as a warm hug. There was a long, thick, hip-height table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. It was piled with green, orange, and purple leafy things, chopping boards, a bowl filled with flour, and a jug of amber liquid. The walls were dark grey stone and there was hanging space for copper pots and pans, ladles and spatulas, and lethal-looking cleavers. At the far end of the room, wreathed in a cloud of steam, standing on a stool with her back to me, was a woman with bright orange hair and a wriggling bottom. She was stirring something on a huge black appliance, which, from the flames and such, I assumed was the stove, but it was unlike any stove I’d ever seen. There was an actual fire glowing inside it. I could see it through the bars in the grate.

“Hello? Excuse me,” I called out, but she didn’t turn from her stirring.

Maybe she was hard of hearing?

Then she hopped on one foot, dropped the spoon and did some strange waving motions with her arms before wriggling her bottom again.

What the hell?

I moved down the room until I was standing behind her, but slightly to one side. I reached out and tentatively tapped her on the shoulder.

The spoon went flying and hot liquid stung my cheek. She flailed as she lost her balance and would have hit the ground if I hadn’t grabbed her arm.

“What the . . . who the . . . oh . . . hello.” She grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but grin back. She had the sweetest little face. I helped her back onto the stool, and she reached for her ears to remove two ear buds that were buzzing. She squeezed them gently between finger and thumb, and they went silent. She popped them into her pocket.

“Sorry, I’m addicted to this music. Jiva made them for me for my birthday last month and I can’t get enough. The music is Enchasian, from the Alleria. They have the best musicians there.”

I was staring at her blankly while I worked out what expression to plant on my face because I had no clue what she was talking about.

“Oh, my, you look like the Gumba fish I just cooked up. It’s the mouth, I think. I forget how little you humans know of our world. It’s strange since we’ve always known about yours. So fragile, always have been.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Viola’s what they call me. What do they call you?”

“Ashling.” Great, I’d found my voice.

“Lovely. Can you cook?”

I shook my head.

She sighed. “Oh, well. I guess we’ll have to make do. You can follow instruction, I hope?”

I nodded.

“Good girl. So, roll up your sleeves, wash your hands, and we’ll get started. We have a vat of stew, ten chickens, and a leg of lamb to cook.”

“Lamb?” The fluffy little white things that ran around green pastures in the storybooks? I couldn’t believe they had lamb.

“From the Elysian fields, a delicacy, but then only the best will do for the Oath Renewal tonight.”

“Oath Renewal?”

“Yes, once a year they come here, Ambassadors from Inferna, Enchansa, and Saul, to take the Oath that allows Apocalypse to remain warded.”

“I don’t understand.”

She pressed her fists to her hips. “I’ll explain while you chop. Come on, wash your hands.”

I was happy to do as she asked if it meant more information on the workings of this place.

I washed my hands and dried them on the apron she passed me. I slipped it over my head. The material covered my torso, ending at my hips.

Viola giggled. “Sorry, wait a moment.” She opened a drawer and retrieved another apron more my size.

Once I was all kitted out and stationed by a chopping board with a knife and a long purple thing, Viola began to speak.

“Now, Remus puts up the ward, but it only remains erect because of the Oath that lends it power. Before Apocalypse, the Shadowlands were a veritable wasteland of danger for everyone, even the Shadowlanders. You can imagine how trade between the Tri-realms may have been affected by the perilous terrain, but then the Dream Eaters stepped forward and offered to provide a safe haven.