BEYOND
The woven willow casket, filled with wildflowers that had been gathered from the Auvergne countryside early that morning, was surrounded by clusters of candles and laid out on the ancient oak table that had occupied the library for centuries, its lid resting on top of the basket, but pulled down so that the top half of the shrouded figure was visible. All four of Matthew's children were dutifully assembled with Ysabeau in the library, waiting for their father. A nervous energy vibrated through the thick air while the family worried about what state the head of their family would be in, keenly aware that hundreds of people were lining the drive at that very moment in anticipation for the procession that was due to take place within minutes.
The resolute click of footsteps echoing through the hall preceded Matthew's entrance into the library. The children exchanged nervous glances, but their anxiety turned to awe at the sight of him. His pale, emaciated face resembled a death's head, the effect enhanced by the vivid blackness of his glossy hair and his funeral attire, but his features were arranged into an exquisite mask of detached resolve and he strode into the room with the dispassionate fortitude of a king leading crusaders into battle. There was something magnetic about the strength and intensity of his power, as though this unprecedented effort to maintain his control had extended beyond himself and, like a heavenly body with its own gravitational pull, drew those around him into the trajectory of his orbit. His steel eyes were as cold and sharp as a blade and his steady hands held two thorned roses, one white and the other red, plucked at the radiant pinnacle of their beauty as evidenced by their flawless velvet petals. As he approached, his family instinctively parted to provide him a direct path to his wife, their eyes following his every move.
The perfume of the rainbowed array of springtime blossoms that filled the casket did little to mask the encroaching scent of decay, though they did provide a glimmer of the beauty and vitality that was lost when Diana's spirit left her body. Matthew looked down upon her shrouded form, quelling the feral pang of possessiveness that threatened before it had a hope of taking root inside of him. He carefully positioned the two roses underneath the ribbon at her midsection, giving the impression that she was holding them although in actuality her hands were swaddled beneath the white linen. The bold musk of the roses was jarring against the pastel sweetness of the primrose, daisies, forget-me-nots, lilacs, and wood violets that were scattered throughout the casket.
With a slight nod of approval, he slid the lid into its proper place, and took a small step back, which the family took as an invitation to approach. They formed a circle around the body, eyes fixed on Matthew, whose wraithlike face was thrown into chiaroscuro relief in the candleflame. They waited attentively for Matthew to speak, but he just stood in stillness, his attention devoted to the vessel before him, so they followed his lead, and paid their silent respects in their own ways. Ysabeau recited ancient prayers from her youth, while Marcus fell back on old Presbyterian hymns that transported him back to the battered wooden church house of his childhood in Massachusetts. Rebecca sang psalms she'd learned from watching her father in prayer, Philip let ribbons of memory flow through him like a breeze, and Jack gave thanks as he often did that Diana had come into his life and taught him what love was. Matthew thought of nothing but keeping the stone vault of mind shut against the onslaught of memory and madness that surged on the other side. Fortified by fifteen hundred years of blood rage, the imaginary structure was all but impenetrable, though its strength had never been so tested.
A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. "Come," Matthew invited, his voice taut and clipped. The door opened gently and Gallowglass and Fernando, who would be serving as pallbearers alongside Matthew's children, entered the room. They, too, were instantly enthralled by the palpable command Matthew held over the room. Gallowglass was slightly awestruck at stared at his uncle in wonder, while Fernando looked upon Matthew with fierce pride. The family cast sidelong glances their way in acknowledgment that the visceral reaction they were having was felt by all.
"Sieur," Fernando said formally, with all due reverence for the occasion. "It is almost time for the procession. The guests are lining the drive, and there are cars waiting to take those of use who are attending the burial to the temple."
"Very good," Matthew said, not taking his icy eyes from the casket. He paused for a moment, then swallowed. "I expect you'd like to say your goodbyes to Diana. Ysabeau and I will wait for you in the front hall. Come, Maman," he gestured toward the door signaling that she should precede him out of the room. He strode after her and softly closed the door behind him.
The remaining occupants of the room stared at the door for a moment, still dumbfounded by the astonishing display of strength and control they had just witnessed. This was not the first time they had seen this side of Matthew, but this was particularly striking given his eerily weakened body and the fact that he should, by all accounts, be on the edge of sanity right now having just lost his adored mate. Only Jack and Fernando had witnessed evidence of this, though they did warn the others that Matthew's behavior was predictably erratic and dangerous and to prepare themselves for the worst. But for those who hadn't seen it with their own eyes—and even for those who had—it was difficult to reconcile the man who just walked out of that door with the fragile and deranged creature they were told to expect. Then again, it was always during times of extreme adversity or danger that Matthew transformed into this cold and terrifying figure. It is why he'd always been unwillingly thrust into roles of leadership and grave responsibility when he would have given anything to live a less complicated life, especially after he met Diana and his thoughts tended more toward domesticity and family than ever before, and compounded by the arrival of first Jack and then the twins. He wanted to be a good father, a present father, a devoted father, a reliable father. A source of comfort and safety and solace. He wanted to take his children into his arms when they were sad and hold their hands when they were afraid. In a cruel twist of irony, these were the times when he was called away, when he had to shield himself from his emotions to remain in control, when he had to distance himself from his family to keep them safe. The fact that his children had to rely on Diana or their godparents for emotional support because they couldn't count on him was a gut-wrenching source of guilt and regret. Only in the silence of the night and the safety of their bed would Matthew let himself be soothed by the one solitary soul he confided in during these times. Diana, with her characteristic sense of certainty, assured him that he was doing what he had to do to take care of his family, and a that a lesser father would have hidden his children away from danger instead making the world a safer place for them. Rebecca and Philip, the only family members who knew Matthew since they were born—and thus, the only people who weren't mature enough to understand the reason behind Matthew's sudden coldness or disappearances—grew up absolutely revering their father who was capable of such gentle love and such frightening strength, although they did go through phases of fear, anger, and resentment over the years despite being told by their mother, and indeed everyone else they knew, that Daddy had go away because he loved them so much. They understood this more and more as the years went on, but there was no denying that there was a small part of each of them that feared rejection when they sought comfort. Luckily, they couldn't turn a corner without running into a sibling, grandparent, or godparent, so comfort was one thing that was never in short supply. And now, standing in the candlelit library looking upon their mother's casket, their father gone from the room, Gallowglass wrapped his giant arms around Philip, and Rebecca buried her face in Fernando's chest while he stroked her hair.
Once they were outside with the door closed behind them, Ysabeau looked up at Matthew cautiously, worried that he'd left so abruptly because his control was slipping. When she saw no sign of this, her expression went from wary to questioning.
Matthew, his hand resting on the door longingly, glanced down at her, though still not meeting her eyes, and said simply, "They can give them what I cannot." His hard eyes yielded to a fleeting look of regret. "Come," he commanded, and led her down the corridor in the direction of the front hall.
Shortly before ten o'clock, the pallbearers made their way to the front hall carrying Diana's casket, with Marcus and Jack in front, Philip and Rebecca in the middle, and Gallowglass and Fernando bringing up the rear. They found Alain and Marthe flanking the doors, ready to open them when the time came, and Ysabeau and Matthew off to the side, waiting stoically for the procession to begin. One look at his so-called family lugging around this flimsy wicker basket that they'd stuffed his wife into the second she could no longer defend herself filled Matthew with boiling disgust. He had seen a lot of cruelty in his life, but he could absolutely not believe his eyes at that moment.
Were they actually plotting to toss Diana into a hole in the ground? After all she had done for them? The children who would have wasted away and died before they reached the size of a poppy seed if Diana hadn't given of her own body to nourish them. The common thief who would have died on the gallows—if he had managed not starve to death before reaching adolescence—had Diana not taken him in and treated him like a son. His own son who would have been tossed into the ground himself, rotting into the putrefying sludge of other nameless Yankee corpses who would never see American independence. The loyal Gallowglass—duplicitous snake!—who claimed to have harbored feelings of love for his wife, was complicit in this vile act. He should have torn his head off the moment his nephew so much as glanced at Diana. The noble Fernando, whom he acknowledged as a brother when no one else did. Whom he welcomed into his family when he had none. How had he allowed this? How had he been fooled for so long? And more importantly, who should he rip to shreds first?
"Matthieu," Ysabeau prompted.
Matthew blinked and squinted at the bright light pouring through the open doors and into the hall. The bells in the chapel at Sept-Tours tolled jubilantly, as did the church bells in the surrounding villages, all paying respects to the loss of the legendary Diana Bishop-Clairmont. The pallbearers looked at him expectantly for the signal to begin their procession.
No one had noticed his lapse in sanity.
Matthew gave a terse nod, and they carefully descended the stairs that led to the drive.
Face stony, eyes fixed straight ahead and posture upright, Matthew wordlessly held his arm out to Ysabeau in invitation, and she threaded her arm through his. Unexpectedly, he reached over to place his hand on top of hers, and Ysabeau's eyes darted up to his face in surprise at the vice-like force of his grip. While he showed no sign of noticing Ysabeau's worried glance, it was clear that, despite his cool exterior, he was falling apart inside and needed her support—mentally and, likely, physically—to make it through the procession. She placed her other hand on top of his in silent affirmation, and they proceeded down the stairs behind the casket.
The day was warm and bathed in sunlight, with the twitter of birdsong wafting from the trees. From the highest tower, three enormous flags clapped proudly in the breeze—the black de Clermont swallowtail flag bearing a silver ouroboros, the white Bishop-Clairmont standard with its ouroboros comprised of the de Clermont serpent and a crowned firedrake, and the square flag containing the seal of the Knights of Lazarus. The kilometer-long drive was crowded with friends and acquaintances, colleagues and family members. Former and current members of the congregation, some allies and some foes, all of whom had to be seen to avoid scandal. Politicians, royalty, and celebrities of all species who were involved in the creature rights movement or were longtime associates of the de Clermonts, many of them going back to Philippe's time. While the de Clermonts were divisive as they had always been, public opinion was generally on their side, and even those who regarded the family with suspicion or antipathy had at least a degree of respect or even affection for Diana.
Their slow march down the drive burbled with quiet sobs, sniffles, shuffling of feet, murmurs of sympathy. Some crossed themselves when the body went past. The knights knelt in deference. Some tossed flowers. Some bowed. Children blew kisses. Everyone's eyes fell on Matthew, searching for signs that he had lost his mind or his control. They wouldn't have noticed the way Matthew leaned into Ysabeau for stability or the bile simmering in the back of his throat. All they could see was his erect bearing, his steady hands, his stoic face, his eyes cast down. This was a man in mourning, but certainly not a man who was of unsound mind, much to the chagrin of the few in attendance who hoped this might precipitate the downfall of the Bishop-Clairmonts (and the de Clermonts in turn) and much to the awe of everyone else.
Matthew squeezed his mother's hand for dear life.
Finally, Matthew spotted the small fleet of black SUVs that were waiting to convey their closest friends and family members to the temple grounds for the interment. Matthew's siblings—Baldwin, Stasia, Freyja, and Verin—stood together in practiced solemnity. Miriam was poised behind Chris's wheelchair, her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder, and his reaching up to hold hers. Evelyn remained with Andrew Hubbard, and Phoebe and Violet waited for their husbands and the other pallbearers to make their way to the Range Rover with its trunk open and the back seats folded down in preparation for the casket to be inserted into the vehicle. Ransome and Geraldine were there to represent the New Orleans clan, most of whom were in attendance but would not be accompanying them to the burial. Nathaniel gathered with Margaret and her husband, alongside Agnes, Mary, and Elizabeth.
When the pallbearers reached the car, Matthew and Ysabeau mechanically stopped behind them to wait while they carefully slid the casket inside. Matthew was only vaguely aware of the presence of their loved ones, as his mind was empty and his eyes focused solely on the ground ahead of him. When the casket was situated, Ysabeau tugged gently on Matthew's arm and led him to the open door of the Range Rover while everyone else separated themselves into the remaining cars, and one by one, they pulled out onto the main road.
The Range Rover was the last to depart, and the moment the car was in motion, Matthew started shaking violently and his breath came out in labored pants through chattering teeth. Ysabeau drew his head to her chest and held him tightly in her arms, and he burrowed into her like a child. He grunted and snorted with the effort of stifling his sobs and keeping the tears at bay.
"Ça ira, meu car," she hummed, rocking him. "C'est bientôt fini."
"Je ne peux pas, c'est trop," Matthew moaned.
"C'est presque fini, juste un peu plus longtemps," Ysabeau consoled him.
"J'ai peur," he rasped.
"Être fort, mon fils, être fort," she said, still holding him protectively.
Matthew rallied himself little by little. The car ride was not long, and he would need to be presentable when they reached the temple grounds. He focused on his breathing and collected his scattered emotions and stashed them back into the straining vault in his mind. Eventually, he drew himself out of Ysabeau's arms and she brushed his hair back into place with her fingers. He set his face into the detached mask he'd fashioned for himself, and when the car reached the temple grounds, he was composed. He and Ysabeau exited the car and waited off to the side while the pallbearers retrieved the casket from the back. They all looked at one another and wordlessly agreed to head toward the burial site.
The temple itself wasn't accessible by car, so there was a short walk up a hill and through the ancient oak and alder trees that led to the Cyprus-ringed ruins of what had once been an altar dedicated to the goddess Artemis, the Greek counterpart to Diana's namesake. Miriam struggled with Chris's wheelchair on the rough terrain until, much to his delight, Agnes murmured a spell that lifted him, wheelchair and all, several inches off the ground, and Miriam was able to push the chair on the glassy smooth surface of the air. "See, couldn't have done that under the covenant," he quipped as he always did when one species of creature was able to use their gifts to help another.
The mourners made their way to the temple not in a strict procession as they had in front of the guests, but in a sprawling group. Only the most trusted friends and relatives were welcome at the burial, so that they could share in their grief openly, without fear of judgment. They arrived at the clearing to find that the plinth that sat in the center of what had once been a circle of equidistant stone pillars that were now eroded into craggy, overgrown rocks in various shapes and sizes, was covered in a sheet and garlanded with hydrangeas, and had four large candles, one at each cardinal point. The pallbearers carefully maneuvered the casket onto the pedestal without disrupting the arrangement, while everyone else organized themselves in a loose circle around Diana's body, with Matthew standing at the foot of the coffin.
The time had arrived when he had to face what he'd been dreading since the moment he spied a young woman, a witch whose blonde hair contained every color of the rainbow and seemed to have a mind of its own, perched on a gallery in the Duke Humphries Reading Room, stretching vainly to reach a book from a high shelf. By the time the book tipped neatly into her hand at her behest, something in his very marrow knew she would always be a part of him… and that she would one day be taken from him.
She was going into the ground.
When everyone was settled, Rebecca walked to the head of the casket and placed a black ribbon on top. With a curl of her finger, she lit the wicks of all four candles at once. She swallowed and squared herself, and confidently recited the words that made up the short pagan ceremony that Diana had wanted.
"Diana, we offer your spirit light in every direction. We offer you protection along the way. We release you from your earthly ties." Here, she took the folded black ribbon from top of casket and held it in her open hand. "And with the path lit and free from danger, we send you on your next journey."
A breeze rustled through the trees and swept the ribbon out of Rebecca's hand and carried it on the current of the air so that it floated off above the treetops and out of sight. The flames on the candles extinguished themselves.
In the first display of warmth Rebecca had seen from her father since he dropped her off at Sept-Tours after having performed the cleansing ritual on Diana's body, Matthew extended his arm toward her in invitation, and when she went to him, he enfolded her in a tender embrace and rested his cheek on her head. He continued to hold her protectively while she cried into his shoulder. It was the first time he felt like a father since Diana's death, and the love that was circulating between him and his daughter in that moment elicited the merest suggestion of the tranquility that only existed in Diana's arms. A part of him grieved that that peace was lost to him forever and the tremors started to insinuate themselves once more. Rebecca pulled back and looked at her father warily, expecting him to withdraw his arms from her. Instead, he pulled her back and tightened his hold on her.
"You just reminded me of your mother, that's all," he whispered in her ear. Fernando's fervent avowal that the twins carried Diana within them sprang to his mind. Father and daughter parted after a few moments, and, with a rueful smile, Matthew took Rebecca's face in his hands and ran his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away the tears. "Je suis désolé. T'aimi, ma petite."
As she turned to walk back to the casket, Matthew gave a nod to Gallowglass, Fernando, Marcus, Jack, and Philip to signal that they could now take Diana's casket and head toward the burial plot which was nestled in the woods just a short way away. All but Philip took a step toward the casket, but stopped in their tracks and respectfully resumed their former positions when he unexpectedly stepped forward. As a gesture of respect to his mother, he cast off his disguising spell revealing the golden aura that glowed around him, and the words and symbols rippling under his skin and flashing in his eyes. He slowly walked up to his mother's casket, and stood at her side. At his silent command, the toggles that fastened the lid to the basket undid themselves and he lifted the top off to reveal the shrouded figure of his mother resting on a bed of flowers. He cast his attention to the white and red roses that his father had placed beneath the ribbon that encircled her torso. The Book of Life had shown him the image of the chemical wedding that was printed on one of the three missing pages that his parents had spent the early days of their courtship and marriage searching for. He recognized the significance of the roses as the embodiment of his mother—the white queen, with a circlet bearing the familiar emblem of a crescent moon and star nestled into her golden hair, and his father—the red king with his pearlescent skin gleaming out of his black and red robes.
Philip spread his arms and a translucent column sprang up from the ground, encircling the pedestal that held the casket. Within the column, a tempest erupted—lightning and rain beat down and cyclonic winds whipped the tree branches that tenaciously unfurled with life amid the storm. Gradually, this display of nature swirled in on itself and as it did, a sun and moon grew into the empty space and orbited around each other, picking up speed until they too funneled into what was becoming an iridescent, undulating bubble which shrank to the size of a marble and floated above the roses at Diana's midsection. Philip's eyes turned velvet black and shone with galaxies of tiny stars as he intoned:
"Wind, Water, Earth, and Sky
Never let these flowers die
Golden Sun and silver Moon
Protect these everlasting blooms"
At this, the tiny sphere burst into liquid quicksilver, which coated the blossoms like ice before being absorbed into the petals and disappearing.
The ensuing silence was jarring, and the onlookers stared wide-eyed at the altar. Matthew stood bewildered for a moment, stunned at having seen a very familiar microcosm to the one Diana had once entrusted to him at a time when he still feared he might cause her physical harm, and then blinked and walked up to the casket. He peered inside and saw that the roses he'd so carefully chosen that morning to console himself with the notion that he and Diana could be together in life for a few more hours at least, were bursting with vitality. To know that the embodiment of their two hearts would live side-by-side in Diana's arms forever inspired a sense of comfort he never thought he'd feel again, and he closed his eyes to let the sensation wash through him. He placed his hand on his son's shoulder and met his eyes with gratitude. Then he turned and beckoned for Rebecca to join them.
He kissed each of their heads and then looked penetratingly into their eyes. "My darlings," he said fervently. "You are the heart of this family." He gathered them up in his arms.
After a few moments, he directed his eyes to Fernando and nodded in command. Fernando replied with a small nod of acknowledgment and wordlessly gathered Gallowglass, Jack, and Marcus to their places beside the casket. He replaced the lid and then resumed his position at the back of the coffin. Rebecca and Philip joined them, and together they made their way toward Diana's final resting place. Matthew locked arms with Ysabeau once more and followed the casket, and one by one the mourners each chose a hydrangea bloom from the garland that draped around the pedestal, and fell into line behind them. A short way in the woods, they came upon the dappled clearing that was shaded by a single rowan tree. When everyone was present, the pallbearers looked expectantly at Philip. At his signal, they released the handles and stepped back. The casket floated for a moment, and then descended gently into the hollowed-out earth. Matthew stood at the edge of the hole looking down, while his friends and family filed along, pausing to say their final goodbyes, then dropping their flowers so they formed a growing pile on top of the casket.
When the last flower was cast into the grave, Matthew fell to his knees in agony. His sunken features were cast into shadow under his starkly white face, and his gaunt, black-clad frame looked as though it had been sculpted from wrought iron. His head hung limply, and he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear, "If our two loves be one, or, thou and I love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die. Je t'aime pour toujours, mon ange. In paradisum deducant angeli."
The rustle of leaves softly crescendoed as a breeze swept through the clearing. As it died away, it left behind words that only Matthew could hear: none can die.
In the silence, he felt a familiar hand slip into his.
