Last Rights
Excerpt Two: The BeginningThe sun glared off the marble of my tombstone that February morning. The smooth expanse where my name and date of death would be carved offered a wonderfully reflective surface compared to the other half of the slab. The half that contained Joseph’s name always seemed to have a cloud over it. I don’t know why I come to the cemetery anymore; I know he isn’t there. Perhaps his body lay under the stiff ground and frozen grass, but I knew that he hadn’t been with his body since he was killed.
It was the first battle, the first of many. We hadn’t expected the weapons that the Skarans produced. We hadn’t expected guns, we had expected heated words, perhaps debate. That was our naivety, I had corrected that shortly after we buried my twin brother. I sank to my knees as I looked at the blank ground; grass would not grow there for at least a few months. Not in this winter. He used to walk with me through this cemetery. We picked out the plot where we would be buried on a day like this, because even in the winter the sun gleamed off the gravestones on this particular hill. It was never in shadow.
I noticed that I was subconsciously holding my right arm, two inches below the wrist. I had never been able to heal the wound that lay under my coat, the place where the bullet went through my arm and into my brother’s heart. I was running to protect him. I hadn’t made it. I refused to let the doctors treat my wounds as I knelt with my brother’s body. I refused to let this wound heal because I deserved it. They tried to save him, but I had watched them drink his last breath, I knew he would never return to me.
I had led my brother death. I had led him to the greatest evil of our world and let him die there. Nothing I could do would make up for that. Not even killing every last Skaran I could find, but that didn’t stop me from trying. It’s funny, I never saw myself as a general, a leader. I had never intended to be. I was born with a gift that I happily embraced, but I never wanted to speak for all of those like me, to be in charge of the Serans. When my brother died, I had been elected unanimously. They said it was because they respected my passion in our war against the Skarans.
But I could tell they only wanted my rage. Serans rarely feel anger of this intensity; we prefer to instead channel these feelings away from others. They are negative, a hindrance; they blind judgment and confuse people. I told them this, but they insisted that there were enough people there to stop me from getting carried away. In a month, our petty squabble with the Skarans had become a holy war. We couldn’t tell you who had started it, which had killed the first of the other. We had always been enemies, but one day someone took it too far, and members of both races began to be found dead.
I had arranged a meeting on neutral ground, this very cemetery. As we stood, I was face to face with my enemies and friends, unable to tell one from the other. We were completely indistinguishable if we wanted to be, and aside from a few of my kind that I recognized, I didn’t know who I was here to speak with.
Not until they looked up in unison and all revealed themselves by spreading the jet-black feathers of their wings. I glanced around nervously, both at their numbers and at the open space. We kept our true forms and purposes hidden from human eyes, that was part of our code, part of our gift. I knew they did not feel as strongly about being anonymous, but never had I seen such disrespect for the humans we so carefully hid from. I tried to pick out their leader, hoping that she would perhaps signal them to fold their wings back into hiding. As I advanced towards the largest group of them, I slowly closed my eyes and willed my own wings into being. I could hear the soft sound of my mother’s wash on the clothesline during a windy day, and an involuntary smile spread across my face. I had always been proud of the soft white wings that no one could see unless I wanted them to. They were my secret and my pride.
I could feel them on the edge of my mind even now. That day, it was like I had opened a door. Suddenly, each Skaran brought out weapons, and none of us could help our shock. I don’t know if they attacked first, or if one of my people were scared. I only know that I saw my brother run towards me from behind a tree. I remember yelling that he wasn’t supposed to be there, telling him to leave even as I lay over a dying Seran, attempting to calm her mind before she left us. Tears streamed down my face as I saw the Skarans taking the last of the life energy from both my friends and their own people. Joseph reached me then, grabbed my arm, tried to drag me to cover. I refused to go, I had to try to save someone, to stop this insane battle. I saw a Seran, wings dripping with his own blood turn towards my twin. His eyes gleamed with pain as he saw someone dragging me unwillingly across the ground. His fingers twitched on the gun he had stolen from the dead Skaran at his feet.
And he fired.
I tried to put my body between them, I lunged with all my strength but I didn’t know the power of the bullet, and as I felt the bones of my arm shattering, I saw Joseph reel backwards and fall. The shockwave of my emotional anguish stopped the battle instantly as everyone doubled in the pain I was feeling. I heard a woman yell to retreat, to leave this behind. I heard running, but all I saw was my brother’s blood on the grass.
It was impossible to explain to the police what had happened there. They assumed it was a gang war, that my brother and I were caught in the crossfire. It seemed a convenient story so I let them believe it. That was three days before I was declared the leader of our retaliation. Three days before we started this war. Three days before I sentenced the Skaran race to death.
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