Aries (#Wattys2018)

Chapter Nine

  A funeral.
  They were at a funeral.
  A funeral, because someone had died.
  Myrna had died.
  They were at Myrna's funeral.
  His tombstone was a rounded gray stone set into the ground at a clearing, with the words Lieutenant Myrna Bashar ~ Fallen in the line of duty engraved into it.  He had been promoted two ranks in death.  To Azah, it didn't sound like something that should have been written on such a kind-hearted boy's grave.  'Fallen in the line of duty.'  Myrna wasn't some kind of war-hardened soldier, he wasn't even an adult.
  Hadn't been.  Past tense.
  And he never would become an adult.  Because of Faaris Shojaei.
  Azah hadn't been informed of what was to be done with his body, and to be honest, she didn't care at all.  She was just glad that he was dead.  In the deepest, cruelest part of her heart, she was happy that he was dead.  Shojaei deserved it, she thought, after what he did to Myrna.  After what he did to her.
  It was a closed-casket funeral.  His body had been too burned up.  Four soldiers wearing navy blue hats marched up, holding his coffin above their heads.  The blue and white flag of Kaar was draped over a coffin large enough for an adult, and Azah couldn't help but think of how small his body must have been inside of it.
  There were so many people at the service.  All eleven remaining members of her class, plus Captain Abboud, and a handful of other soldiers, distinguishable by the guns stowed away in their belts.  Myrna's mother and father were standing off to the side, sobbing hysterically, and with them was a small boy.  Myrna's little brother.  He couldn't be older than seven.
  There were other people as well, people who made speeches that prided Myrna on his "chivalry" and "leadership."  No one from Squad Two made a speech, and neither did the Captain.  So many people that claimed to know him.  But they probably didn't know about how he had a scar on his lip.
  Both Squads stood right at the front of the crowd, watching four shovels dig, and lower in the coffin, and cover it up with reddish-brown soil.  There weren't any graves surrounding, just open meadow.  Myrna's parents had wanted him to be buried at home, in a small village about two hours away from the military base.
  Azah heard a few plicks on the ground, and looked down to find drops of water splashing the grass.  Damn, it was raining.
  But then she looked up, and it wasn't.  Ommer was crying.
   One hand covered his mouth and his shoulders shook uncontrollably.  She didn't know what to do, what to tell him.  That it wasn't his fault?
  She felt something hot trickling slowly down her cheeks, and reached up to touch her face, noticing that she was crying as well.
  Normally, Azah would have been mortified.  Every time she started crying, it would take a while for her to stop, and until then, everyone got to see her in her moment of weakness. But where was the shame in it, at the moment?  The people around her were all mourning.  Water poured from even Mai's unseeing eyes.
  So she let herself grieve, and the ground became an ocean of tears.
  People, dressed in all black, stepped forwards to lay down flowers on his grave.  And each flower had a meaning.  Pink and white zinnias for remembrance, white jasmines for love, lilac borages for courage.  Marigold agrimony for thankfulness, dark purple heliotropes for devotion, deep blue Canterbury bells for gratitude.
  Soon, the grave was more foliage than dirt.  It looked beautiful like that; a bright spot of colour among their sea of black.
  She stood in front of the spot where his body lay, hours after everyone had left.  The only people remaining were on the other side of the meadow.
  She heard someone approaching, but didn't bother to turn around.  To her surprise, a hand reached out and dropped a handful of almonds on the stone.  Azah looked up and found the rest of the body connected to that hand.
  It was Ommer.
  'What are those for?' 
  'Almonds.  They represent a promise.'
  They stood quietly, side by side, and watched some of the flower petals depart from their stems and blow away in the breeze.
  'A promise to you, or to him?'
  'To everybody.  That this won't ever happen again.'
  'It wasn't your fault.' she objected immediately.  It was almost automatic.
  'Then who's fault was it?' he said in a low voice.  She had never heard him like this.
  'Nobody's!  Sometimes - sometimes -'  She struggled to find the right words.  'Sometimes things just have to happen.'  It didn't sound right even to her own ears.
  'I'm the one who said that he would be fine on his own.  If it weren't for me, then maybe ...'
  He stopped short, and for a moment, Azah feared that he would start crying again.
  'Maybe what?'
  'Maybe this would be my funeral instead.'
  'Don't say that!  Don't!  There's nothing any of us could've done, Shojaei obviously had the intention of dying with his farm.'
  Ommer's hat cast a shadow over his face, his expression unreadable.  He faintly traced the word Lieutenant with two of his fingers.
  'He was really bad at chess.
  'We played in the rec room after training most days, and I don't think he won even once.'
  A small snowflake landed on the back of his hand, and melted immediately.  Then another.  And another.
  The white flakes drifted down to earth softly in beautiful patterns, dancing around each other and falling into Azah's hair, the snow as bright on her dark strands as salt sprinkled on a pitch black table.  They gently covered the flowers in a fine powder, and settled over the almonds like sugar.
  'The first snow of winter.'  Ommer tilted his head upwards.
  'Do you think he liked snow?'
  'I'm sure he did.'
  'Good.'
  It wasn't just a flurry.  A giant gust of wind blew, and Azah shivered.  Ommer remained motionless.  His head bowed.  His hand on the tombstone.
  'We should go.' she said finally, wrapping her arms around herself.  'We're going to freeze out here.'
  'Azah?'
  'Yes?'
  'Where did you get that scar on the back of your hand?'
  She hesitated. 
  '...It was a promise.'
  Little puffs of fog appeared in the cold air in front of his mouth, and his head jerked erratically.  Maybe he was laughing.  Maybe he was just tired of being sad.