When it is done, I pull myself up to stand beside her grave. In the tradition of our people, I should break her mask, but I find that I am unable. Its bright sunshine hue does not deserve to be trampled. She did not deserve to be trampled, I correct myself with a yelp. I place the mask over the mound of dirt, weighting its twine with heavy rocks.
“I loved you too, Warbler.”
The words burst my resolve, and an unyielding howl pours from my lungs. I sob and beat against the ground, as if my sorrows could somehow bring her back to life. Then when I manage to get control, I scrub the tears from my eyes with dirty, bleeding fingers. Now is not the time to grieve. When I am back alone in my bed, that is when I can pull my covers over my face and let go of my sadness. Right now, I need to go hunting. And when I find Creeper, I am going to make sure that the only thing left of him is the blood stains on my shirt.
***
I stumble up the stairs to the House of Vultures around midnight. The place is lit with candles in every window as I plop onto the couch. Condor, Falcon, and the rest of them hear my movements and come thundering down the stairs.
“It’s you,” Condor mutters in surprise, eyeing the door warily.
“Looking for your friend Creeper?” I enjoy the sound of the half-broken mask rattling on the floor as I toss it to Condor’s feet. As he picks it up, his hands are careful not to land on the bits of hair and tissue still stuck to the frame.
“You actually killed him?” Condor studies me closely as I point to my bloody clothes.
“Are you really that surprised? It’s not like I haven’t taken a life before,” I remark, hearing the waver in my voice. Now I need to be alone. Now, I need to grieve.
“Yes, but Hawk was different. Killing Creeper—killing for revenge….” Condor’s words fail him. He edges closer to the couch, a hand reaching for my shoulder, as if to comfort me.
I stand up, unwilling to let him near me. “It was too good for him in the end. He deserved far worse suffering than I could inflict.”
Condor catches my arm as I pass by him heading toward the stairs. The feel of his warm fingers on my skin makes me cringe. I am so emotionally raw that my skin hurts with any human contact right now. “Warbler?”
“You really expect me to believe that you care?” Pushing Condor hard against the wall, I wrap my fingers around his throat. My limbs ache, but I manage to hold him tight. Condor must motion to the others to stay away, because no one comes to his aid behind me. “Looks like there’s two vacancies in our House now.”
“This was never what I wanted, Mynah.” Condor’s pleading tone sounds so eerily like Creeper’s that I almost fear I am holding onto a ghost.
“An eye for an eye, leader. Falcon allowed my friend to die, so I’ve taken one of her henchman from her. You had to have known what she was up to, so I find you just as guilty. Be thankful that I have stopped with Creeper.” I stalk away before he can say another word, fearing that I will lash out with my blade if anyone tries to touch me again. Panther jolts up the stairs behind me, a grim set to his mouth.
I drop face up onto my bed, uncaring that I still wear bloody clothes. Panther sits on the stool beside me, stone still as he waits. His hand wraps around mine when I don’t volunteer any information, and strangely, his touch does not bother me. Maybe it’s the bond in our minds, maybe it’s the fact that he’s a child, or maybe I’m just too exhausted to care anymore. Panther carefully tends to the scratches on my arms, and I allow the ministrations without arguing.
“Aren’t your priestly sensibilities shocked by my behavior?” I mock with an unceremonious tone.
Panther does not rise to the bait, patiently laying out clean clothes for me while the shock of my actions wears off. I killed another human being. Willingly, purposefully, viciously. It was so very different from hunting for food. I had always struggled with killing an animal, an innocent creature that had done nothing to deserve such a fate. What I had done to Creeper was the equivalent to torture. I’d made him suffer, and I had even drawn some sick satisfaction from it.
I can still hear his high-pitched keening as I tore him apart, limb by limb. “Please, don’t! I’ll be good, I swear!” he had sobbed when I set my knife against his arm, preparing to skin him from knuckles to elbow.
“Can you bring her back?” I had taunted him as the knife bit deeper into his wrist. “Can you undo the damage you’ve already done?” Oh, how he had screamed! The sound still rings in my ears. Staring at my shaking hands, I see his blood crusted around my fingernails.
That’s when the vomiting and chills rack my body, sobs and short breaths overpowering me. The crushing guilt finally overtakes the heat of the moment actions replaying in my mind. What terrible things I have done! Did the murder of Creeper honor Warbler or shame her? Would she have felt justice was served, or would she look at me in fear? Am I any better than Falcon or Condor? Will I ever stop seeing Creeper’s face? I feel like there is nothing in the world that can make me clean again.
***
After only a couple of hours spent shivering and begging for my own demise, a pounding at my door pulls me out of my guilty ruminations. Panther hurries over to answer it for me as my bones quake with a coldness that seems to have settled in my heart. Nothing I do removes the fault from my trembling fingers. No act of contrition can possibly atone for what I have done. I cannot force my head to turn nor my eyes to focus on Bittern as she enters my room. All I can see is Warbler’s pitiful, teary eyes and her open, sobbing mouth.
“Mynah, you are needed downstairs. Condor has prepared the wake,” Bittern coos, smoothing her fingers through my sweaty hair.
“You tell that bastard that I am staying right here! I will never be a part of the wake for Creeper!” I shout through gritted teeth.
“Not Creeper, Mynah. Condor decided not to hold the wake for him, and he gave orders that no one is to even mention his name. This is strictly for Warbler,” Bittern explains, her tone comforting, as though she is speaking to a child who has just woken up from a nightmare. “Will you come down for her?”
A moan wrenches its way through my throat. “She wouldn’t want me there.” All I can remember is our stupid fight. “I called her a cheap prostitute,” I confess, tears pouring down my mask. “Did I push her further into Creeper’s reach? How can I honor her passing after such harsh words were exchanged?”
“She spoke to me and Grouse during your self-imposed break from each other. In the end, she knew that you were trying to protect her. Warbler loved you, Mynah. She admitted as much to me. You were the mother she never knew, and she regretted saying otherwise.” Bittern gently pushes against my arm in an effort to urge me to move. “She had forgiven you.”
“Then why didn’t she say anything to me about it?” I wail, pounding my bed with a fist.
“She was ashamed of her own actions,” Bittern answers softly. “She didn’t know how to make amends.”
“Me neither,” I mumble, my tears collecting on my pillow until Bittern pulls me over to her lap. I don’t know how long I sit with my head on Bittern’s knee, bawling as I confront my pain.
“You both were so much alike. You’d forgiven each other, but neither one of you managed to forgive yourselves.” Bittern taps my nose to make sure she has my attention. “Warbler would not want you to blame yourself anymore. She’d want you to honor her memory, not waste away in this bed.”
When I finally sit up, I see Condor hovering at my door. “Will you come?” he questions, waiting in silence for my response. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy under his mask.
“Were you crying?” I exclaim, incredulous at the very idea. “I thought you didn’t care about anyone in this House.”
Condor’s mouth jerks, but rather than fight, he simply repeats his question. “Will you come, Mynah?”
“For Warbler,” I mutter, pushing myself out of the bed. I lean heavily on Bittern as we make our way down the stairs, Condor close behind us.
In the front yard of th
e House, at least a thousand candles flicker. Grouse, Goldeneye, and Wren are stationed in a partial circle around the sidewalk. Falcon, I notice, has chosen not to participate in the ceremony. Good. In the backyard, I can see telltale glow of more candles from the others who claim membership of our House but live in nearby shelters. Even Panther hovers on the porch, unsure of his place in this ceremony.
“Tonight, we honor the passing of one of our own,” Condor announces to the gathering, his black feathered mask gleaming with the firelight’s iridescence. It gives him an otherworldly demeanor, like he is some kind of death bringing spirit, a harbinger of doom. “Warbler’s life was cut short by another, a soul too broken and evil to be remembered. We celebrate the memories we hold of her in life.” Condor raises a silver dagger hidden in his belt. “And for those who truly knew her, we mourn her loss wholeheartedly.” He slides the tip of the blade along the fleshy pad of his thumb, the blood pooling instantly. Raising his thumb to his own mask, he draws an X on the feathered surface. Then he passes the dagger to me.
The sharp edge bites my finger as I follow the ritual, my mind far away. Warbler would not want this from us. She would never have wanted us to spill our own blood, nor would she want this ceremony to occur in the middle of the night. She was the exact opposite of this place. “How did Warbler end up here?” I mumble to myself as I draw the mark on my mask, passing the blade to the next person.
“What do you mean?” Condor stares at me confusedly.
“How did she end up in the House of Vultures?” My voice grows stronger as my question gains merit in my thoughts. “She was the only one of us who was bright, cheerful, and fun loving. The difference even showed in her colorful mask. Everyone else here is predominantly drab: whites, grays, browns, blacks. We are neutral, but she was sunlight itself.”
“She came here because she needed a place to be, just like you, just like everyone else in this House, Mynah,” Condor reassures me, his hand reaching toward mine.
“Do not touch me,” I snap, unwilling to believe that Warbler chose this place out of sheer dumb luck.
Condor’s hand falls to his side with an irritated growl. “Mynah, now is not the time or the place for this.”
“I think it is!” I screech, pointing at the silver dagger that has almost made its way around our circle completely. “Nothing about this ceremony is really about Warbler. She would have wanted something different. She would have wanted us to celebrate her life in the middle of the day, with song and dance! She would have—”
“Wren, continue the proceedings,” Condor demands, his fingers curling like claws around my elbows. “You and I are going to have a chat,” he snarls in my ear, dragging me inside the House.
Condor practically drags me up the creaking stairs. A shudder of terror racks my bones when he tosses open his bedroom door. I am face to face with his rumpled bedspread. Is Condor just as bad as Creeper? Is he going to hurt me? “What are you going to do?” I gulp, my eyes darting around the room for any weapon I might use.
“Nice, Mynah. Good to know you think so little of me,” Condor scoffs, insulted by my fear. “We are going up to the roof. I have a secret entrance through the attic, and we are taking it. I don’t want anyone else to hear our conversation.” Condor jerks on a rope tied to a plank in the ceiling, and when he does, an old metal ladder lowers. “Ladies first,” he motions to me.
Had we not been fighting, I would find the scene below us beautiful. The way the candles twinkle sporadically across the grounds makes it seem like we are in the middle of a swarm of fireflies, or we have transported ourselves up to stand among the stars. I think even Condor notices, because for a few moments we both stare at the grounds in silence, too absorbed in our own wishful dreams. In this one moment there is harmony.
Then Condor shatters that peace with his open mouth. “Don’t ever ambush me in front of the entire House like that again! Keep publicly challenging me like that, and I will be forced to punish you publicly again. And despite what you might be thinking about me, I do not enjoy it! Now, if you have something to get off your chest, I’m listening.”
“Come on, Condor! You can’t really believe that the wake ceremony has anything to do with Warbler! She was so upbeat and positive. She would not have wanted—”
“The wake ceremony is not just about her, but it is also for those that knew her, Mynah. And yes, some parts of the rituals are simply for tradition, but I do think she would have been proud of this night.”
“Because you knew her so well,” I add sarcastically. “What part of this makes you think of her?”
“The lights,” Condor replies immediately, as if he had the answer standing by on his tongue. “I think she was very much like those candles out there. She was the light in our darkness.” Condor paces the length of the roof in irritation.
I had not thought of it like that. Condor’s perspective on the wake does sound exactly like something Warbler would find romantic. “Well, when you put it that way—”
“You do realize that you weren’t the only one in this House that liked Warbler, right? You did not monopolize her time.” Condor’s voice lowers, as if he is trying to hide his raw, emotional state.
My eyes roll as I respond, “Oh really? You knew her well then, hmm? Tell me, what was her favorite flower? Why did she pick the Warbler mask? What was her favorite—?”
“Stop.” Condor presses a hand to my lips, bumping the edges of my mask until I am afraid it will fall off my face. “I will not sit here and be interrogated by you, not when you are part of the reason she is gone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I roar, hands clenching into fists as I prepare to fight or die.
“You babied her, Mynah. You treated her like she was a child. You kept her soft and needy. She took up with Creeper just to feel like she was doing something worthwhile in the House. She thought she was being useful, which is all she really wanted. If you wouldn’t have made her feel helpless, maybe she’d still be here.”
Condor’s words sting far worse than a punch to the gut ever could. My lungs feel like all their air has just been expelled, but I am unable to draw another breath. I slide down to my knees, my mouth opening and shutting as I acknowledge the truth of his argument. I did baby her. Didn’t Bittern say that Warbler admitted to thinking of me as a mother? Did I cause her to turn to Creeper? Had I not been asking myself these questions only moments before the Wake began? Did I smother her?
Seeing that he has won, Condor leans heavily against the railing that keeps us safely ensconced on the roof. “Her favorite flower was a red rose. She liked it because of its rich scent. I found it ironic because her favorite color was yellow, and there is a yellow rose. She said that she’d never seen a yellow rose that smelled as sweet as a red one. As to why she chose to be called Warbler, there is a completely yellow bird in that species. She also loved to sing like the birds do, and she liked the wordplay of the name.”
“When did she confide in you?” I wonder, amazed that such a harsh man would ever take the time to find out such details about such a gentle soul.
“When I would come in late from the forest, she would stay up too. Warbler wanted to make sure than I didn’t go hungry. She and I grew close.” Turning back to me, observing my seated, defeated attitude, he continues. “She loved you dearly. What I said about you sending her to Creeper…that was out of line.”
“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.” I can hear my tears in the way my voice breaks. “But I am not responsible for Creeper’s actions. He’s the one who killed her, so do not try to blame me for her death.”
“Mynah—”
“No, Condor!” I rise determinedly, the fight building inside me like the first spring storms. I am lightning and thunder, a tornado of emotion. Nothing will stand in my way. “You don’t get the right to insult me one minute, apologize the next, and expect me to take it lying down.”
“Why do we always have to fight? Why are we never able to open up and actual
ly talk about meaningful things? We are always on the opposite sides of every issue,” Condor whispers, the sound of sorrow in his voice. “Why can we never see eye to eye?”
My fist connects with his mask in a resounding crack. Startled, Condor backs away from my side, one hand raising to check if his disguise is now broken. “You want to know why we must fight all the time? Because I hate you! You tortured Hawk! You let Creeper into the House! How could I ever trust you with anything personal, hmm? You mean nothing but misery to me.”
Condor’s hand snakes around my throat so fast that I do not see it coming. He shoves me hard against the railing, pushing me until my upper body dangles precariously on the edge. If he lets go, I will definitely plummet to my death. “I wish…I wish you would open your eyes! For once in our pathetic lives, I wish you would see the truth.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I growl as I grapple with Condor’s hand, struggling to find a way to get free.
Condor answers, but he does not clarify his previous words for me. “Tonight was supposed to be about Warbler. We both have forgotten that. We must return to the wake ceremony.” Condor hauls me away from the roof’s edge, urging me toward the stairs once more. “Go back and join the others and tell Wren that I will return in about ten minutes.”
My fingers quiver as I reach the ladder. I praise whatever gods might be listening that I am still alive on this rooftop and not splattered on solid earth.
“One more thing, Mynah. If you continue to push me aside and if you keep hiding information from me, I will find other ways of getting it. You have been warned.”
I do not breathe another full breath until the wake ceremony is completed. My mind is a flurry of questions, none of them relating to Warbler when I know I should be remembering her. What did Condor mean when he said he wished I would open my eyes and see the truth? And what about how he would use other ways of getting information from me—what does he want? Condor is so very changeable that I wonder if I even really know him at all.
***
House of Vultures Page 11
