Pitch made his way through the dark tunnels. The others were all asleep. They were to be leaving the next morning, if any time of day could be called morning on this dark, starlit planet. Memories flooded Pitch's mind, invaded his dreams, and most of them were unpleasant. But one, in particular, woke him so much earlier than the others today. He was determined to act on the thought, which had presented itself three days before: Pitch Black would give Obscurus a funeral in the traditions of their people. For he knew they were of the same race.
So now he wound through the earth under the dim surface of Tenebris with a dark blue fire in his hands to light the way. When he arrived at the arena, he paused for a moment, searching the dimly lit room with eyes that saw every crack in the rocks, every shadow cast by the flickering flames. And they stopped on the pathetic, unmoving form that had once been the terror of the galaxy.
After pausing to take a breath, Pitch crept toward the corpse, half afraid that Obscurus would leap out at him, as he had all those years ago on the asteroid where he'd lost everything to that beast. No, he thought fiercely, recalling Lunar's bright smile from only the day before, I just thought I had. And then he was there, staring down at the wraith that Obscurus had become. He knelt down, scanning the dark form that had caused so much misery and pain in the lives of thousands, tens of thousands of children all across the universe.
The tall, imposing figure was now shrunk in on itself. The shadowy form lay there, as small and delicate as a child, draped in clothes that were now far too big for it. Pitch knelt down and reached out shaking fingers to brush away the lank, limp hair so he could properly see the face. It was a child's face, and it made his heart break. This man had also once been a child, and he had been broken so badly that all he could do was spread pain and destruction to all those around him.
"You never had a Lunar," Pitch breathed, recalling the peace of his life after meeting the Lunanoffs. "And I'm sorry about that." He paused then placed the blue flame on Obscurus's thin chest. It hovered there without burning the clothes or body, and then Pitch gently gathered the childlike shell of the man he'd feared nearly all his life into his arms and turned to carry him back out under the stars.
He carried the body away from the bright fire that marked their camp. Making his way across the rugged surface of the planet, he walked for fifteen minutes before he got to the funeral pyre. His people had used this same ground to send many souls to the stars. It was one of the only beautiful things about his people that he could recall. Most of the rest was pain and blood and anger at their dark lot in life.
In a near reverent state, Pitch looked up to the stars where the souls were said to swim in freedom once they'd left the body, the only lights that his people could handle in any degree, he walked slowly to the pyre and tenderly placed the body of his old enemy. Without a word, Pitch stripped the too-big clothes from the body and began to fashion them into a funeral robe worthy of the kings of their planet. It was only his own powerful magic that allowed it to happen so quickly. Months were normally spent on the robes, but with his own concentration and abilities, which were far beyond the typical Darkling powers, he formed the finest he had ever witnessed.
With great care, he dressed the childlike figure, then he settled the limbs into place. He stared at the serene face, wondering what had happened to such a handsome Darkling that would twist him into such a brute, but then he shuddered. He didn't want to know. He really didn't. And it was with great surprise that Lunar, Jack, and the others watched him caress the face of the man who had destroyed so much of Pitch's life. His profile was grim but determined, and they all watched in fascination as he exhaled and began to hunt around on the ground for something.
Unaware of the audience he hadn't heard approach, Pitch knelt down and began to gather the starstones that would grant Obscurus passage to the next plane of existence. It was tradition to have at least five stones, but Pitch gave him seven, a number of wholeness, completeness that Obscurus had clearly never known in his life. With great care, he arranged the stones in the proper places. He changed the one from the forehead to the left eye, adding one of the extras to the other eye and the other over Obscurus's heart.
He stepped back, searching the form for the enemy he had feared for so long. There was none of that left. Only a broken child who had never truly grown up. Like the Guardians, he thought bemusedly. We never grew up either. Funny how we're to defend children.
A shifting noise behind him startled him, and he spun around to see the other Guardians watching him. Out of all of them, only Nightlight looked as if he understood what Pitch was doing. He was leaning on his spear with the knowledge of generations in his young eyes, and he nodded once in approval. Lunar and Jack, when they saw they had been noticed, quickly stepped forward. The others stayed where they were.
"What are you doing, Pitch?" Jack asked.
Pitch pressed his lips together and turned back to the body. "I'm giving him a funeral."
"Why?" Lunar asked, moving to stand beside Pitch. Jack stopped on the other side, staring at what was left of such a powerful man.
The Nightmare King pursed his lips. "Because he was just a broken child who never grew up. Because he didn't know any other way to act. Because he was in pain all his life. And because it's the right thing to do."
Silence reigned, and then Nightlight moved forward. "What else do you need?"
"Nothing physical," Pitch said grimly. "Just fire. The Sparking Paradox will suffice."
"What do we need to do then?"
"You are under no obligation to give him any honor," Pitch grumbled.
"Nor are you. Yet you are," Nightlight replied. "And if you, of all people, can give him this dignity, so can we."
Jack smiled and nodded. "Come on, Pitch. Let us do this for him. For you."
Pitch glanced back at the other Guardians, who quickly hurried forward, nodding. It was still so bizarre to have them not be angry, not be scared of him and his powers. But he finally nodded, grabbed Lunar's shoulders, and guided him to stand off three feet to the side. Next, he grabbed Jack and guided him to the point several yards away from Lunar. Nightlight, without a word, went to stand on the other side of the body directly across from Jack. In a similar manner, Pitch guided the other Guardians to stand until they were in a nearly complete circle around the body. Then he went and took his place directly across from Lunar at the head of the body.
After a moment's silence, he raised his hands and spoke ancient words from his people. "The stars in the heavens watch over a new soul," he recited. "As we send his body on to the nonphysical world of the stars high above, we send with him the blessings of our people." Pitch paused, then swallowed and added his own words. "Though his life was dark, and his pain was great, he is free now from all of the bitter rage in his heart and soul."
With a simple thought, the fire, which still lay on top of the chest, exploded into an inferno, and everybody else gasped and flinched. Everybody except for Lunar, who tilted his head curiously. Pitch smiled at him, unable to help himself. And then the starstones began to burst in the flames. They leaped high over the body, a parody of sparkling stars. Seven times they burst, and seven stars hovered over the body, crackling and popping like the fire beneath them, but so much more beautiful.
And then, to Pitch's great surprise, a stately, handsome Darkling unfurled from the fire. He glanced around, and then his gaze landed on Pitch. He glanced around at everybody else, but none of them saw the form, not even Lunar and Nightlight. They were solemnly staring at the body being engulfed in flames. The figure stood tall between the stars, and then he smiled at Pitch.
"Thank you, Prism," he whispered, then the fire arched up into the sky in a flare of ecstasy.
The bright light dazzled Pitch's sensitive eyes, and he squeezed them shut. And then it was over. Nightlight was suddenly beside him, helping him to sit down as he rubbed his aching eyes.
"Stupid light," he muttered, tears sliding down his cheeks.
"Still can't handle much direct light, eh?" Lunar asked, walking around the now-empty pyre to stand beside Pitch.
"Our peoples are very different from yours, little Lunanoff," Nightlight said quietly. "Pitch does not have my anomaly, and he cannot stand such light."
Jack laughed and skipped over. "That was pretty cool. So, that's what a funeral was like for your people?"
Pitch nodded, his thin hands still covering his aching eyes. "I need sleep."
"Well, then let's go and finish sleeping," Lunar said sensibly. "North, guide Pitch back to the camp. No doubt he can hardly see where he's going."
"No doubt," Pitch replied with a snort.
North's large hand landed on his shoulder, and he was guided, as he had guided the others, back to camp. He didn't look back, knowing that the darkness would be that much darker because of the light. But as he settled back into his bedroll, he couldn't help but think of the Darkling that had appeared amongst the flames. It had been Obscurus, of that there was no doubt, but it was Obscurus as he had never been during his long life. And as Pitch closed his eyes, he knew what he had told Lunar was right.
Giving Obscurus a funeral had been the right thing to do. Not only for Obscurus but for him. Because peace settled over his tumultuous soul, and he smiled as he drifted into a new dream, a better dream. And he honestly couldn't wait to get back to Earth. But first, they had to get Sandy's ship.
