The day of the royal burial, five days after the attack, economic activity was halted in the entire planet. Those who couldn't travel watched it from their homes. The castle's outer gates kept the crowd of mourners at bay. They had come to say goodbye to their sovereigns, even if it was from afar, and many cried or demanded that the murderers were found and executed.
Like all monarchs after Erol, Alaissa and Jhon would perpetuate their existence in a pyramidal obelisk made from quartz crystals and selenite, which would be planted around the Temple of Light, located on the island of Elohí. Their remains would be placed in the foundations, encapsulated in customized coffins, while their holographic effigies were housed in the column's translucent bodies. Thirty-eight obelisks already made up the mausoleum, also called the Forest of Swords, where the mourners would land with their offerings before dawn, for, at sunrise, the sun's rays refracted by the crystals would make the whole island glitter in resonance with their beliefs about the ascent of souls.
Snowflakes came down tirelessly, it seemed that even the sky was crying. The Path of the Ancient Kings of Eloah, partly rebuilt for the burial, was flanked by a contingent of ten thousand soldiers clad in their formal uniforms. The solemn procession took place on the snow covered cobblestones, on which, ironically, the monarchs had ridden to their deaths. And although there were no signs of the tragedy, except for an irregularity in the ground where a crater had formed, the absence of damaged sculptures and the blackened remains of burnt trees contributed to the feeling of unease, of loss. The most superstitious claimed that the election of that path had been an omen for what would happen.
In the darkness of the winter dawn, the black uniforms of the militia merged to form a double fence of bodies stretching for kilometers. On the shore of the Manaas, the black coats and traditional hats worn by the special guests, or the robes of the choir, waiting motionless on the stands attached to the dock, were barely distinguishable from the dark lake, the icy forest and the gray sky behind the octagonal temple. Blue balloons were glowing next to the floating aleias, like iridescent jellyfish; a million candles on crystal shells slid over the brittle layer of ice covering the water.
The sound of drums, like a slow dying heartbeat, set the procession in motion. Pum, pum... The escort carrying the coffins moved forward and stopped. The echo was lost in the wind. Pum, pum... Another step, just one, and yet everything seemed to go by so fast.
A red cloud appeared in the sky. It was the mourners who flew like ghosts, making a movement similar to waves, clad in long dresses, their skirts ripped into strips. Their presence announced the dawn, and the explosion of light that would guide them to the island.
***
As if she could feel something was happening, Bridget opened her eyes. She was in her room, in half-light. Dr. Laverne Nance slept on an armchair next to the bed; to her right, a female figure stood out against the gray sky visible through the window.
What happened to me? Why am I here? She tried to remember. Her head hurt, and her body was heavy as lead. She tried rising, but the pain in her chest made her moan.
The woman at the window, startled, closed the curtain and approached her. At first she thought it was her mother, but she recognized her when she got closer.
"Brid, finally..." said Annie, stepping around the bed. "I'm so happy."
"Ann?" she mumbled hoarsely. Her sister was wearing bed clothes and her face was gaunt, with bags under her eyes.
"Shh... don't talk."
'And above all else, don't ask questions, please,' she added, but Bridget didn't see her move her lips. The lack of reaction from Nance told her he hadn't heard anything, so it must have been another one of her baffling hallucinations.
What day is it? Little by little, memories came back to her. Annie had gone to college, she had gone riding with her parents. Other details were blurry.
"Something scared Zinget and I fell, right?" she asked softly.
'Some fall it was...' added the imaginary voice.
"You could say so," replied Annie nervously, avoiding her eyes. "But what's important is that you need to get better, and to do that you need lots of rest."
She made herself busy setting her covers straight.
"Where are my parents?"
'Dea...'
"Er... it's not morning yet, Brid, go back to sleep," said Annie brokenly, looking upset. Her evasiveness made Bridget suspicious; she blinked, scared, wishing she could wake up from that bad dream.
'Scavenger's eggs! Why in my turn?' protested the voice. 'Did you really have to attend the funerals when I needed you most, Pat?'
Bridget made an effort to ignore it. It's my fear talking.
"I'll... I'll be going to bed, too," added Annie, climbing on the mattress. She lay down next to her and dried her forehead. Tears had flooded her eyes, and she didn't want Bridget to see. "Of all the ways you could have brought me back to the palace, you chose one that has kept me worried and sleepless. It's not your fault, let's just... go back to sleep, ok?"
'Close your eyes and forget about the question, damn it,' spat the voice.
Bridget frowned. She couldn't see Annie's lips this close to her ear. How was she going to distinguish her voice from the fake one? However, she did recognize her usual sniffles: the real Annie was crying.
Suddenly, Bridget remembered the strange shrill noise that stopped her before the... the explosion!
"My parents... are they sleeping, too?" she asked, terrified this time.
'I don't know how to say it!' complained the voice.
It hadn't been an accidental fall, Bridget could now remember Zinget bleeding. Deep down she knew something horrible had happened, otherwise her parents would be by her side... and her sister wouldn't ignore the question as she wept next to her pillow.
They were dead.
Grief made a dent with devastating strength. Her breathing sped up and her heart threatened to burst from the pain.
"Calm down, breathe," said Annie, alarmed.
Calm down? Bridget couldn't stop her head from spinning, or slow down her breathing. Tears welled up in her eyes, flooded them, and started spilling.
"Where does it hurt?" Annie sat up, nervous. "Hang on, I'll get the doctor."
'...tor,' echoed the voice.
Annie didn't have to call him; an alarm rang, rousing Nance from his slumber. He promptly checked the monitors, pulled out several flasks, and added their contents to the cocktail of drugs he supplied to his patient through a vein.
"Let her rest, miss Britter," he requested while he was at it.
'I'm such an idiot, she must have remembered the incident, and my evasion confirmed everything,' the voice moaned.
"Brid, listen to me," she begged, "everything is going to be ok."
Ok? Someone tried to kill me, it's my fault. It's because of me that they're.... dead!
Her vision blurred, and the room around her darkened.
"Miss Britter, I beg you..."
"Bridget?" called Annie. But her sister couldn't hear her any longer.
"She'll be fine." Nance watched her calmly. "I've put her to sleep. Her heart isn't ready for strong emotions."
"Ah." Annie stepped away.
"Tell me, did she recognize you, miss Britter?"
"Ah? Yes."
"What about her memory? Did she seem to remember even a little of what happened?"
Annie nodded.
"Excellent."
"What's so good about that?"
"Forgive me, I was just checking... Her Highness hit her head," he tapped his own forehead with his index finger, and added, "One never knows."
In the window, an explosion of multicolored light preceded the ringing of the bells, the burial songs, and the flight of thousands of red tailed alites that took off into the dawn, continuing their migration to the south.
"It's over," whispered the doctor, his eyes fixed on the window. He remained deep in his thoughts for a long time, or maybe it had just been a few minutes, he was so tired that he often lost his train of thought. When he turned towards the bed, he confirmed that Annie Britter had fallen asleep at last.