by Raven Dark
“Damien.” Her brows went up. “Damien Vale? Your old master?”
“Yes.” I shivered. “All of us could have died in that fight. I wouldn’t go with him, so he tried to kill Sheriff. He would have killed the Four if he had the chance. If the Brothers of Brimstone hadn’t been there, they’d all be dead.”
“Shit. Setora, are you okay, though? Damien…did he…”
“I’m fine. Really. But if Crash hadn’t fought him, I’d probably be back in Hell’s Burning with Damien now.”
My eyes watered, fear and grief crushing me in its grip.
“T-Man’s right, Cherry. Crash died a hero. For his club. For the Four. For me.”
She blinked, her eyes bright. “Maker’s tits, that’s so like him.” She pushed up from the bed and threw up her hands. “That’s so him, playing hero. Idiot man.” She waved her hand in front of her face, as if to try to wave away her tears. It didn’t work, because when she turned to me, her cheeks were wet. “How could he do something so stupid?”
I got up and the next thing I knew, my arms were around her.
“I can’t do this, Setora. I can’t.” Her voice broke and she gripped my frock. “How am I supposed to…I mean how do I just…”
She descended into sobs, seeming to be trying to push me away and cling to me all at once.
There was nothing I could say to make it right. My blood turned blue when I healed, and I could link my mind with other Violets, but I had no power to undo what had been done. I couldn’t bring him back, and it tore me up that I couldn’t.
Suddenly I wanted to kill Damien, wanted to end him with a violent intensity. For the first time, I understood the desire for vengeance, the anger my men felt when people crossed them. Violence was the purview of men, but here and now, I wanted it to be mine.
With nothing I could say to ease her pain, I just held her close and let her cry. Tears fell down my own cheeks, and I rocked her in my arms, wishing it were enough.
Nothing would ever be enough.
Cherry’s whole body shook with horror and grief. I stroked her hair, and when she cried on my shoulder, I kissed her forehead, trying to give her all my strength. Trying to give her the will to go on without the man she loved.
* * *
The funeral took less than an hour, but it seemed to go on for days.
Cherry had asked me to take her, along with Dice. She needn’t have asked; I’d have gone with her anyway, and not only because of T-Man’s threat to drag her there himself.
The whole Grotto turned out for the occasion, men in full leather, even Dice. Cherry had dressed in one of my black cadris, her hair pulled up in a straight bun, a style that seemed almost strange on her. I wore the same, with my hair styled like hers. The rest of the women wore rare black frocks, except Gretle, who wore a black scarf over her grey hair and a shawl covering her shoulders. Diamond and Emmy donned road rat garb, both accompanying Doc.
The funeral was held in an area of the Grotto I’d never seen, half a mile from the well Sheriff had taken me to before we’d left for Delta, on a large stretch of green away from any living quarters. Grim had set up a funeral pyre thirty feet from two rows of gravestones, those of Brothers long lost.
The crowd of bikers gathered around the pyre, almost a thousand strong including men called in from runs and missions for the day. Many had their bikes with them.
My Four escorted me out to the front of the crowd, hugging each other and me while some latecomers were still arriving.
“You all right, Kitten?” Hawk held me in a long embrace.
I pulled back and looked at him. While everyone else was in cuts, he was dressed in his Yantu garb, that all-black silk uniform that covered everything but his face. A matching scarf was wrapped around his neck, one I knew would conceal his face if need be. He looked gorgeous, a mix of solemn ritual and sexy, strong male.
“No, but I will be, Master.” I glanced around. “Where’s Sheriff?” He’d been standing beside Hawk a moment ago.
“He’s supposed to lead the ceremony.” He nodded behind me.
I turned to the pyre. Sheriff had taken position in front of it, talking to Grim.
Grim moved about, finishing setting up two pyres beside Crash’s.
“The other two pyres. Are those for Latch and Pup?”
Hawk nodded, squeezing my shoulder. “None of us can stand with you during the ceremony, so you’ll stay with Dice and Cherry, all right?”
I nodded, and he kissed my temple.
Steel and Pretty Boy were talking with the Brothers of Brimstone who’d gathered among the rest of the crowed. Beast was there, looking as somber as everyone else, if a little uneasy. He stood close to the others in his club. I didn’t see T-Man, but I knew he was there.
“Where will you be, Master?” I asked Hawk.
“With Sheriff. He asked me to perform the tan an’dar. I’ll meet you and the others back at the clubhouse.”
“What’s the tan an’dar?”
“The Yantu Ritual of the Dead. Crash always liked anything to do with the Yantu, so Sheriff wanted him to have a Yantu send off.” He kissed my temple again, squeezed my elbow when Sheriff called him over, and then started toward the pyre.
“Come here, Petal.” Steel pulled me to him and held me close. We said nothing as he and Pretty Boy led me to where Cherry and Dice stood, near the front of the crowd.
Dice gave each of them a tight handshake with his good arm and gave me a wink.
Pretty Boy buried his face in my neck and squeezed me. He and Steel both kissed me on the shoulders, hugging me at the same time, so hard I could barely breathe. I blinked back tears, wishing I could hold them forever.
When they released me, both of them walked up a path into a cave behind the crowd. Sheriff and Hawk lit three torches that stood behind the pyre, tall ones in golden holders. Then both men joined Steel and Pretty Boy inside the mouth of the cave.
I was just wondering what they might have been doing when Cherry grabbed my hand. I welcomed it, squeezing hard. Cherry’s eyes were swollen, but she looked a little less peaked, managing a weak smile for me. She held Dice’s hand.
A few moments later, the loud, deep pounding of a drum sounded from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Sheriff, Hawk, Pretty Boy, Steel, T-Man and Doc came out of the cave, the six of them carrying a polished wooden coffin on their shoulders. A heavy silence lay over the green, no one speaking.
The six men carried the coffin over to the pyre and set the sarcophagus down beside it, then stood side by side in front of the unlit pyre.
Sheriff cleared his throat. He put his chin to his chest for a long moment while the other five men stood flanking him, heads down, hands clasped behind their backs. I had the sense Sheriff was choosing his words carefully, or perhaps trying to find them.
He cleared his throat again and looked at us.
“Most of the time, I love being the General,” he said at last. “I get to say who gets patched in. I get to see all of the new members come in. See them get put through Prospect hell and kick their asses out if they fail. I see the ones who make it, get their patches, showing themselves to be the hardest, the toughest men. I also say who loses his patch.”
He looked down for an instant, pausing, and when he looked up again, his voice was different, huskier.
“But I don’t get to say who gets patched out. None of us gets to say who loses his patch to the Maker. He takes a patch on His own time, in His own way, and I’ll tell you all now, this…this is the time when I hate being the General.”
Ripples of agreement went through the crowd. Men nodded.
“Crash, Latch, Pup. They were good men, but on that last mission, my Brothers were so much more. They were heroes, defending their club. Defending their Brothers. Defending our women. All three of them died giving their lives to the Legion.”
Again, he paused.
“These three men whom we honor today did what every man who wears the Legion’s patch knows he may h
ave to do the moment he puts on his cut. They fought bravely, they fought hard, and they went to the Maker so that the Grotto and the Dark Legion could live on.”
More murmurs rose up. Crank sniffled and Bear wiped his eyes. Cherry and I hugged, and Dice grabbed our hands. We squeezed back.
This time when Sheriff stopped, Steel, Hawk, Sheriff, and Pretty Boy went over to the coffin, hefted one corner each and lifted it, carefully setting it on the pyre.
Grim handed Hawk and Steel two cuts—Pup’s and Latch’s—and they carefully laid one each on the other two pyres. That done, Grim took a torch from a holder, lit it, and let the cloth wrapped around the end burn bright. Then he handed it to Sheriff.
The General went to each pyre and held the torch to the wooden planks. For each one he lit, small flames ignited, then quickly spread, leaping up and covering the whole top of the pyre in an instant. Smoke and fire enveloped the wooden coffins, curtains of flame closing around the departed. My throat tightened.
While the pyres burned, the Four, plus Doc and T-Man returned to their places in front of fires.
“So…now, we give our three heroes the send off they deserve, letting them ride off into that never-ending sunset, that clubhouse in the sky. Crash, Latch, and Pup, may you ride the wind forever. Hawk?” He nodded to his Captain of the Guard, then he and the others stepped off to the side.
Hawk stepped a pace forward from the pyre. Curiosity and wonder unfurled in me as I waited to see what he did next.
My warrior master first carefully wrapped the scarf around his head, arranging the cloth so that it hid every part of his face except a strip across his eyes, then tying it at the back. Grim picked up Hawk’s twin swords, handing one of the weapons to him. Hawk coated the blade with something, using a dark cloth.
Grim handed him a torch. Hawk lit the sword from where the blade met the hilt to the weapon’s tip. When the whole blade burned bright, he handed it to Grim, took the other sword from him, coated it as well, and then lit it. He took the first sword from Grim, and, with one blade burning in each hand, he returned to his place in front of the pyre.
For a full minute, he launched into a series of moves, like a ritual lethal dance of blades and fire. At the end, he faced us, twirled both flaming swords in his hands, then dropped to his knees and rammed both into the ground. With the hilts half buried in the earth, the rest of the blades continued to burn for a moment longer before the flames slowly died and went out.
I didn’t have to see his face to know every move, every spin of those blades was an act of respect, a silent speech as potent as any words he could have spoken. For Hawk, perhaps they were more so.
In my mind, I imagined Crash looking down, watching what Hawk did with wonder and gratitude, with that lopsided smile.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. Beside me, Cherry sobbed.
Still on his knee, Hawk put his palms together in front of him and bowed, then returned, one final time, to his place.
Speeches followed Hawk’s ritual, but I barely heard them. While the pyres continued to burn, Bear and Crank gave a speech about Latch and Pup, then one about Crash, as did Dice. Men hugged each other, some crying, others revving bikes, loud and long as if they wanted all the heavens to hear them.
Sheriff closed with a thank you to everyone. Then the drums sounded again, a long, steady series of beats that carried throughout the Grotto and reached down into my soul.
These men loved each other in a way I would never have imagined of pirates, in a way that perhaps I would never fully understand. Yet in that moment, I felt I did understand it. I felt it, in every ounce of my blood.
The drums sounded on and on while we stood in silence, letting our friends, our Brothers go at last. That song was just a funeral march, but in that moment, as it beat into my blood and into my soul, it felt like something so much more.
It felt like the sound of goodbye.
While the pyres burned, Grim poured some kind of liquid onto each of them, and the flames leaped higher. He’d used an accelerant, I gathered; I could smell something like kerosene on the air.
Over the next few hours it would take for everything to burn, most of us left, while some of the men stayed behind and talked for a while longer. Grim remained with the pyres, watching over them. Cherry and Dice and I returned to Dice’s cave with Steel and Pretty Boy, saying little. We passed the time with games of cards, talking about Crash. Dice kept our minds off of things with stories about Latch and Pup. Apparently, he’d known the men better than any of us. Cherry sat on her grandfather’s lap, crying softly several times. The hole in my heart burned, aching for her, for Dice, for these people who had somehow become my family. It burned until it felt like there was nothing left.
Hours later, when the pyres had burned down, I returned to the burial grounds with Cherry and Dice, Pretty Boy and Steel. Bear and Crank met us at the pyres along with Sheriff, Hawk, Doc, and T-Man. All of us helped Sheriff gather the ashes that remained and put them in urns. They scattered them, and then set the urns for Latch and Pup in front of two tombstones Grim had put up for each of the Brothers, along with wreaths of roses.
Afterwards, Sheriff turned to Cherry and me. He surprised me by laying his hand on Cherry’s shoulder until she jerked her eyes to him.
“Cherry?” He handed her an urn. “Are you up to doing this?”
She opened her mouth twice, but nothing came out. Her eyes were riveted to the urn. Tears fell on her cheeks.
Sheriff nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all right.” His voice was amazingly warm. “I’ll do it for you.”
“No.” She shook her head jerkily. When he paused, she cleared her throat. “I’ll do it, sir. I have to do it.”
Cherry glanced at me, her eyes pleading.
Sheriff seemed to understand, because he nodded, holding out his hand to me.
Suddenly the chasm between us vanished, and as I slid my hand into his, I felt every bit as connected to him as I had at the well. He walked Cherry and me over to Crash’s plot. The others stood behind us while Sheriff kept his hand in mine, big and strong and warm.
“Setora.” Cherry signaled to me. I licked my lips and stepped forward with her until we both stood in front of Crash’s tombstone. She knelt. So did I.
Cherry opened the urn and carefully spread Crash’s ashes over the mound of dirt in front of the stone. My eyes caught the words on the stone for the first time.
Crash.
Brother. Friend. Hero.
My throat choked.
I put my hand on Cherry’s shoulder, and she closed her eyes for a long time.
How, I didn’t know, but here and now, I knew that in time, Cherry would heal. The club would heal, whole once again, its Brothers closer than ever.
Damien had stolen Crash from us. Maker help me, if he found me again, I wouldn’t let him take anyone else.
Chapter 12
Savage Masters
By the time the funeral ended and everyone was gathered in the clubhouse, the sun had set. Like the party we’d had following Patch’s death two months ago, this one spilled out onto a large green out back of the clubhouse cave. The Brothers of Brimstone, apparently here for a week’s stay, gathered with the rest of us.
Two bonfires burned bright, chasing away the darkness, the sound of fiddle and flute drifting out of the cave over the sounds of men carousing and drinking. Around the green, spits roasted hog and boar, chicken roasting over fire pits. Seeing those pits made me sad, knowing Crash would probably have tended them, were he still with us.
For drinks, coolers of ice held chilled mugs, kegs of beer set about the area, men serving themselves, some already falling down drunk.
Some of the men seemed to be trying to see who could knock each other out the hardest. Others were laid out on the grass, their eyes glazed with drugs or drink, men trying to drown their pain and loss. My heart broke for these pirates who had suddenly become my family.
Sheriff’s personal guard, Gore, had esco
rted me to the party. I wondered why one of my masters hadn’t come for me at the slave’s quarters, but as soon as I got out to the green, I saw why.
The Brothers of Brimstone were sitting around one of the fires with T-Man, Steel, and Pretty Boy. All of them were joking and laughing, their speech slurred. Pretty Boy was singing, loud and out of tune between throwing back a mug of beer.
I turned to Gore. “Where’s Cherry? And Sheriff, sir?”
“Sheriff’s over there.” Gore nodded to an area across the grass where men sat around picnic tables playing cards, drinking and laughing. “Cherry’s supposed to be here somewhere.”
I looked around but didn’t see her or Dice. She’d gone back to Dice’s place after the funeral; perhaps he was still trying to convince her to join the celebration. Worry for her tugged at me, but Sheriff would probably expect her to make an appearance.
Gore and I made our way toward Sheriff until Tanya came up and pulled me into a sloppy hug.
“Come join the fun, Setora.”
I hugged her back.
“Your master is getting grumpy without you.” She nodded over to Sheriff. “I got her, sir,” she added to Gore.
Gore shrugged and disappeared into the crowd.
“I’d better get over there before he comes looking for me.” I grinned.
“Let him wait. Men are more fun when they get ornery.”
I laughed and joined her on a boulder where we could watch over the crowd.
“I don’t think your men will let you leave the Grotto again.” She winked at me. “I heard Pretty Boy talking about tying you to his bed if you so much as mentioned another road trip.”
“I can imagine.” That trip had been brutal on all of them. I was almost glad the Brothers of Brimstone hadn’t been with us the whole trip, or they might not have wanted to join our club.
I looked over at the four of them. In spite of the crowd, Beast was with them, but he was laid out like Steel and Pretty Boy, obviously too drunk to be freaked out by the celebration and noise.
