- 12 / In Memoriam -
The storm had passed, leaving none of them unharmed, but still it was gone.
The world kept on spinning, the egoistic flow of life kept going, one loss insignificant in the face of thousands. The island's earth was sated with the blood of those who had died, and they were many. Siobhan was but a face in the crowd.
The wooden cross was beautifully carved, a work of Tristan, who had surprised everyone by the gesture. It stood in the middle of the war cemetery, small and delicate, surrounded by the blades of the knights' fallen brothers, as if the swords of the brave were meant to protect the little soul in death. Viviana knelt with difficulty on the grave, her rounding stomach making the movement difficult. She glanced at the crown of flowers in her hand, remembering suddenly an old custom from her land, where girls would cast such ephemeral ornaments to the river, to be caught by their future beloved ones. Viviana smiled, remembering the evenings with her little sister, when they used to laugh while entwining the flower stems into a green braid, the games she played with Siobhan, and the tales she used to tell her. Little instants of joy, precious moments that would never fade.
Ahern knelt beside her, glancing anxiously at her face, and caressed clumsily the flower crown with his small hand. 'Has she gone to a better place ?' he asked, 'Because Father Cornelius says so.' He seemed to think for an instant. 'Galahad says it's bullshit.'
'Ahern !' came Dagonet's stern voice. The healer glared disapprovingly at the youngest knight, who grinned back sheepishly. 'You will not speak so in front of your mother. And especially in a place like this.' The boy lowered his head, disgruntled. 'Yes, Pa.'
'And you' growled Dagonet, approaching Galahad, 'I'll kindly ask you to refrain from such… liberties… in front of my son.'
Viviana walked under the sun, stepping carefully on the long, lush grass that grew around the swords, leaving behind the knights' bickering and the solemn whispers of the children. She came to a small hillock of earth, set aside from the ceremonial cemetery. There, in the shade of an old oak tree, stood another cross, made of two small wooden planks tied together with a rope. A nameless grave for a nameless being.
She knelt once again, and laid another crown on the grass. The gesture held no love, but it was not a tender feeling that had brought her here. For it was her wish for him to be remembered, as a reminder against ignorance, against blind fear, and against her own demons. For she had allowed this man to die, no – requested it. Viviana was no hypocrite : she did not pretend that his death brought her any deep regret, but could not deny that it stirred shame inside her, and guilt.
She had pretended to be civilized, educated, reasonable… That mask had been torn down that night, when all she could think about was her mindless hunger for vengeance. Stripped of all pretence, she had seen herself as she really was : selfish, stubborn, proud.
She must not forget what she was capable of.
The wind blew gently on the plain, and the earth beneath her was warm, full of energy, and the air itself seemed to carry sunlight. Viviana looked up, to the ancient oak tree that provided shade for this particular grave, and that sheltered a myriad of living beings. How ironic that life should feel so present here.
She missed Siobhan, missed the laughter and the curious, silent stares. She would regret her forever. But no life is possible without regret, and the moments they had shared had been worth a thousand grieving minutes.
The young woman lay a hand on her stomach, almost feeling in her palm the minuscule heartbeat of her child. How she was impatient, now, to hold this being, to wonder at its perfection, to laugh at its adorable clumsiness.
The storm had passed, and it fell upon them to rebuild the demolished homes, to replant, repair and to live on, gaining strength until the lightening stroke again.
"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
Friedrich Nietzsche