Page 108 of Last Rites

It must have been faith in the gods that compelled me to knock. A distant but definite belief that members of the cult wouldn’t open the door and seize us. Eeus’s judgment couldn’t have been confined to Ashpoint. Surely, it had to have extended all the way here. Because we were unarmed. I’d given my dagger away in defense of Forstford, and Kit left his in Ashpoint, in the grave with the Vessel and the dead.

So, we stood, hopeful and vulnerable, and waited to see who came to the door.

It opened, the first of a few miracles. When I glimpsed my mother’s face, my knees buckled, and I went down on the packed dirt, hands pressed to my face as sudden sobs overcame me.

I was wrecked—physically, emotionally—and I didn’t dare peek between my fingers and find I’d been mistaken or dreaming. I stayed on the ground, shaking and sniveling until my mother’s body descended on me, then another, and one more.

Mother, Sayla, and Kit all crowded around, barely speaking, mostly crying, and surrounding me with a love I’d feared lost.

After a while, Kit threaded his arm under mine and eased me to standing. Mother was ready with another embrace, and I sagged against her while she kissed my teary cheeks.

Kit went back to wake Rosie and fetch the kittens while Sayla took her turn fussing over me.

“I did it,” I finally sputtered. “Father. And you. And…”

And it was over.

I wasn’t sure I’d sat with that fact before now. The work didn’t feel done until this very moment.

Finally, they shooed us inside, where Warren was waiting, and Thoma too. We offered a brief introduction for Rosie before she was wrapped up with us.

Then it was hugs again, all around, and enough tears to damn near flood the place. I was limp and hiccupping by the time our hunger forced us to pause for breakfast. We gathered around the kitchen table while Mother and Sayla rooted through the cabinets for enough food to accommodate a crowd. We were short on chairs, so I piled into Kit’s lap, arms ringed around his neck and head on his shoulder while the kittens skittered around beneath our feet.

I felt like I could sleep for years.

“…They all dropped dead,” Sayla explained while slicing a block of cheese. “It was the strangest thing.”

“The most fortunate thing,” Warren added from his spot across the table. “I was afraid we’d be the ones dead soon enough.”

“What did you do with the bodies?” Kit’s voice rumbled against my ear.

“We buried them,” Sayla chirped, cheery as could be. “And if what you’ve said is true, we need never burn anyone again.”

Kit had explained this time. I was too wrung out and hoarse for much talking. He told the story better anyway. More succinct; less meandering. And he left out the part about both of us dying.

Rosie and Thoma listened intently from the foot of the table. Thoma must have been here when it happened, but he didn’t contribute, content to let Sayla carry on.

My sister regaled us with what must have been a dramatized version of the Bone Men invading the farm, claiming all its resources had been pledged to Eeus. They put Warren to work alongside their own men, tending the fields they planned to strip bare at the end of the season. She seemed to think it all rather funny in hindsight, mostly the part where the hand of a god swept through the place and cleansed it of evil.

Mother claimed the farm was blessed now. Said it was all thanks to Kit and me.

I hadn’t told her about Merrick.

“He’s dead, too, you know,” I mumbled as she and Sayla carried over platters of beans and bread along with the cheese.

Both their eyes darted up, asking for clarification I’d hoped to not have to give. Kit’s hand rubbed up and down my back, leaving a track of warmth in its wake.

“Merrick,” I said.

“Oh…” Mother had set the food down, so her hands were free to fly to her chest, clutching at her heart.

He stabbed me there. Would it ease her grief to know that?

He would have given us all for his misguided faith.

She shouldn’t mourn him.

I shouldn’t.