Cottongrass
Kae visits the family grave after the passing of his parents.
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The little field at the edge of the woods was blanketed with fresh lilies-of-the-valley. Come next summer the grave would be covered with them too, he knew from experience. At least he hoped it would. The fresh soil was damp from the nightly showers, a featureless black solid mound. The flowers laid in front of the headstone looked frail, as if a single gust of wind could have ripped the young petals off their stems.
Kae felt humidity pressing through his trousers as he knelt in front of the headstone. It was May, but the faltering northern spring was still hesitant to come in those latitudes, and the wind was raw against his face.
It had not taken long for his father to weaken after the passing of his mother. She had been laid to rest before the first snow; he had finally joined her now, at the turn of the seasons. Kae had stayed with him all throughout that last night, the two of them talking for long hours until it was only him making conversation and his father listening with his tired eyes closed. He’d asked Kae to sing, so he had. Every little thing he recalled from childhood, every hymn and waysong he had picked up on his travels over the years.
Kae had held his hand long after it had gone cold and limp, and a pale morning light had crept in the horizon.
Despite his circumstances he had never been a particularly religious man, yet a part of him hoped the afterlife was exactly as people said it was. He’d never known two people as utterly devoted to each other as his parents; he’d always known neither would last long without the other. They had never been apart for longer than a day after they married.
Ma must have been lonely, waiting for pa to join her, Kae thought and shivered.
Cottongrasses knelt in the wind. Nothing made a sound, but Kae knew when he was no longer alone.
”Flowers won’t last long in this cold,” said the voice of his patron-god.
”Bringing them is a common habit among most cultures in this realm,” Kae replied. ”I wonder why that is. Is it simply because they’re beautiful, meant as an offering, or because they’re ephemeral – a metaphor for mortal life?”
”I don’t know.” Kajo looked out of place in that barren landscape, hair whipping in the ruthless wind. ”This is a ritual my people never had.”
”Honouring the dead?”
”Burials.”
Kae pulled the collar of his coat up. He caught a whiff of woodsmoke in the air. In the old days he would still have been fast asleep, ma coming to rouse him for the morning sauna as soon as the water was hot enough.
”I need to stay a while longer still,” he said, breaking the silence. ”Need to settle the deed with my cousins and take care of some practical arrangements before they’re ready to take over.”
”Take what time you need.”
”I appreciate it.”
His voice had taken a hoarser edge than normal, which did not escape Kajo’s notice. They watched him pensively as he wiped his eyes, pretending it was just from the wind, and asked, ”do you want to be alone?”
The laugh he let out sounded strained. ”Gods, no. That’s about the last thing I want right now.” A little more quietly he added, ”you can stay. Please stay.”
”Very well.”
They exchanged no more words. Kae’s boots were splattered with mud to the knees as they walked side by side across the rolling fields towards the silhouette of the tiny hamlet nestled in the shadows of the woodlands. It was cool, dark and sheltered, a haven for sensitive hellning eyes in those months when the sun was relentless and the nights waned into nothing but a short few twilight hours.
On the hill overlooking the village they stopped. Green grass as far as the eye could see, air still opaque with haze in the one place where wind had not managed to chase the morning mist away. Kae turned to look at Kajo, relief washing over him when they met his eyes. The knowledge that there was no need for words between them was worth more than gold, for he doubted he had any left for anyone.
Kajo just nodded, once. He inclined his head in response, and continued walking. When he had reached the foot of the hill he was alone again.