by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
A painful moan rent the air as Darla fell back against Sirion’s chest. The woman cradled Darla close to her breasts, tears welling up in her eyes. “I think our sister is dead.” She choked in words barely above a whisper. Filled with despair, she searched for an answer, asking Gabrielle, “Is our little sister dead?”
Exhausted from her own ordeal, Gabrielle attempted an examination to find out Darla’s condition. She leaned forward onto her knees, crying out in agonizing pain from sudden leg cramps. Unable to stand or stretch, she tried ignoring the cramps, but with great difficulty. Tears ran down her face as she listened for Darla’s vital signs, occasionally crying aloud when a particularly violent spasm raced through her.
At length, Gabrielle lifted her head, unable to open her eyes because of a searing pain, and with panting breath answered, “Our… sister…still…lives. I… I… think… she’s… she’s gone… into a… coma.”
Struggling, Gabrielle pushed herself back. Seeing the anguish in Sirion’s eyes, she attempted to explain the situation. “Darla’s hemorrghaging on the brain. Lungs are filling with blood.”
Darla’s lips were turning purple, her face blue. Sirion whimpered as her heart was breaking, “My sister’s dying! Can you do nothing to save her?”
Shaking her head, Gabrielle fell forward on her hands, her face only inches from Darla’s, tears like rain falling upon her little sister as Gabrielle cried out, dejected, “I have failed! My child is dying and Ishtar stands alone in her evil world.” Her lips quivered with remorse. “I have failed! I have ruined it all!” She collapsed on Darla, quietly sobbing in grief.
Sirion softly caressed Darla’s face, her tears streaming down onto the woman’s satiny black locks. “You cannot die! Do not leave me, my little sister! Do not go, for how will my soul ever be forgiven should you die because of my selfishness? Your demons are not your burden to carry. They are mine… should be mine!”
Sirion was but fourteen when the universe fell into darkness, her coming of age celebration cut short because of the Rebellion. Darla, the youngest of all the children at that time, did not remember those days of uncertainty and terror, but lived them every hour of her life… and Sirion – Darla’s next oldest sibling – blamed herself for it all.
Stroking Darla’s hair as her tears fell, Sirion waxed poetic, choking out a lament.
“Death, Oh sweet death,
How much more pleasant is your bed than mine.
Should I rest in your bosom, I will feel no grief,
I shall enjoy your dark embrace.
Bring to me your peaceful release.
Do not make me wait for the morning light.”
Her sorrow turned to haunting refrains, drifting on the breeze across the camp and filling all hearts with sadness.
“Life is a burden we all must bear,
A grief and a shadow we all must share.
The dead are at peace, in a restful long sleep,
Yet the souls of the living must wail and weep.
The dead are not knowing the pain we endure,
To lose our dear sister so loyal and pure.”
“Oh, give us the strength to live through this day,
Or let us retire to the dark, far away.
Our hearts will not heal from your leaving us now.
Oh, sister, my sister, remain with us still.
My sister, my sister, remain with us still.”
With chin resting on chest, Sirion groaned defeat, her mournful sobs accompanying Gabrielle’s in a sorrowful melody.
~Quiet is the camp when a warrior is mourned in passing~
