My descent into the Boneyard was graceless. I more fell into the Boneyard than glided, really. The inertia threw me to my knees and hands. The wings settled into the familiar cloak as I felt the deathmask and shroud embrace me.
So tired.
So burdened.
I had been avoiding coming here because I thought I could handle it on my own. I was mistaken. Not all this guilt and heaviness was mine. But I didn’t know where I had picked it up, where others had laid their emotional baggage on me. In me.
I could barely hold myself off the ground. The gravity pulled at the burdens. The ground itself demanded it.
Footsteps.
I know that tattered skirt.
“Here to help, gloat, or both, Ravenwoman?”
She snorts. “Both of course.” Her gloved hand juts into my field of view. I take it and she pulls me to my feet. “Unh. You’re too heavy. You should have come sooner.” She puts my arm around her shoulder and helps me to a bonepile. “Sit. If you can. Lie down, if you can’t.”
I shudder on contact with the bones. I feel the instinct and try to hold it back. She smells the smouldering underneath me. “The fire really takes to you quickly. If you’re trying to stop it in consideration for me, you deserve to be burnt and you know why.” Fine, bitch. The flames envelop me as she withdraws her hand. I fall backwards into the tall pile, like a lazy farmhand reclining on a tall harvest of death.
The fire reaches deep within me, in between the veins and the tendons, in between the bones and the muscles. The burdens, mine and not mine, are fuel for the fires. I remain conscious long enough to note that even my breath is on fire. Flames come and go from my mouth in a morbid game of hide and seek.
I close my eyes. When I open them, the bones around me have been rearranged. Instead of lying on a disorganized pile, the bones have been lain around and above me. I chuckle and note it almost looks like a giant soup bowl, with me as the spoon.
The laughter turns to heaving. Not wanting the humiliation of vomiting on myself, I turn over and allow the effluence to strike the ground. What came up was already smouldering, and burst into flame the moment it left my mouth and was exposed to the environment.
I chided myself for turning to the wrong side. As soon as I was able, I reached down, scooped up the burning mass, and threw it into the raging pyre that held me.
“You remember. You have to release it all. Regardless if it is yours or not.” Ravenwoman had returned with more bones to arrange over me.
Through the flames, I studied her masked face. A nagging question finally found its way out. “What’s your name?”
She paused in sudden shock. “I have none.”
“Bullshit. You forgot.”
She threw a bone at my head. “You call me ‘Ravenwoman’ to others. That is my name. To others. The ravens need no name to call me. And neither do you.”
“‘Ravenwoman’ is a title. One that I thought only you bore because of my ignorance when I met you. Again. In memory, anyways. But it can be said it’s my title too.”
She placed the bones as if tucking me into bed. “It’s also the title of those in the temple.” She smirked as she spoke.
I jerked upright in sudden anger, disturbing the bones and flaring the flames. “That fucking mockery of a blasphemy, you mean! She had a raven skull! A raven skull! And the temple itself is made from solidified misery!” My anger fueled the flames even higher. Ravenwoman sat back and enjoyed my display.
“You’ve wanted a raven skull in your world. What’s the difference?” It was a trick question, and we both knew it.
I laid back down in the embracing flames. “Different ravens. The ravens of ‘my’ world, are just birds. Just like I’m just a human. It’s a physical thing, that will decay and crumble, and become dirt again. I want a skull for vanity. And because it’s mere vanity, it will remain a want. The ravens here… these are not mere ravens. These are… something else… that just look like ravens… because that’s all I’m able to handle. I think. The point being, there should be none of their bones here, unless it was gifted. Or stolen. And considering there are humans involved, and the arrogance that comes with us… I’m betting ‘stolen’. I dunno.” I settled deeper into the crumbling fragments under me. “Either way, the Bone Temple is an affront to this place. That’s how it feels anyway. I don’t understand the rage I feel about it.”
Ravenwoman grunted and continued adding bones to the fire that cocooned me yet didn’t burn my flesh. Slowly the heaviness was lifting.
“You never did say if you had a name.” She threw a knucklebone at me and bounced it off my head. I giggled. She snorted.
“Matilda.”
“Bullshit.”
“I could be a ‘Matilda’!”
“My dear, you’re a crude, bitchy, shrill, vicious, manipulative cunt! You can come up with a better name than ‘Matilda’. That’s mocking you.”
She cocked her head as if trying to figure out how my insult came across as a compliment. “I’m not that old that I couldn’t be a ‘Matilda’.”
“You’re older than the so-called Priestess. You’re older than the Bone Temple. You were one of the first humans here, if you were ever human at all! You’re old enough to claim any damn name you want!” One of the ever present ravens was watching us, and burst into cawing laughter at my words. The look she gave it made it laugh even more, until it flew off, still laughing.
“Humph. Why does it matter?”
“Because you’ve become someone distinct to me. Maybe I’ve gotten used to you. I’m certainly not afraid of you anymore.” The burdens were gone and a sudden tiredness was pulling me deeper. “Because there’s ‘Ravenwoman’ the role, and ‘Ravenwoman’ the person. And even though you’re still quite the snide bitch, you’re not that bad a person. Now that I’m not afraid of you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You can tell me what that means, when you explain why you’ve nurtured me just now. You didn’t have to look after me. You didn’t have to arrange the bones to help me. There was nothing in my pain that you were forced to help me with. And here you sit.” I opened my eyes just in time to see a confused look on her face. When she saw me watching, she snarled and looked away. “I don’t expect you to ever fill a familial role in relation to me. Maybe it’s just ‘professional courtesy’.” I closed my eyes.
Another knucklebone bounced off my head. “Maybe it’s too much writer’s curiosity! Impertinent twit!” I laughed at her annoyance. She turned away. But she didn’t leave. I surrendered to deeper sleep.
I’m laying on exposed ground. Something about the winds tell me I’m someplace high. A large earthen mound, or a leveled hilltop. Could even be the mountain terrace. But it is night, and the only light is from the fire that grows from me.
The winds are blowing from head to foot, hard enough so my sight is not obscured by the flames, not so hard that the six feet of flame at my feet is extinguished.
I am ablaze. But I do not burn. There is no fuel for the flames other than my existence here.
The winds blow steady through the night, but I am not afraid. They are like old friends, come to visit. They know I need rest, and play with the flames that cloak me instead.
I smile, turn over, and slip into deeper sleep.
She was playing in the dirt again. Drawing little stick figures and telling little stories about them. She was by herself, as it was too cold for her to be fully exposed. Other children had something warm to play in. She just had her thin shift.
She heard her name called and turned to see the adult that walked up to her. The adult held out something and said it was hers. Her eyes brightened at the sight. Is this really hers? It is! It is!
The coat was made of a myriad of short lengths of yarn, tied and knitted together to make a scrap yarn coat. It was lined with a thin stained cloth, could have once been a bedsheet, or a tablecloth. Some of the yarn was thin, some was thick. Some was soft, some was rough. Some was as smooth as ice, some was textured like a hundred knots. The yarns were of many different colors. Mostly dark blue and browns, but there were shocks of red and thumb’s width of bright yellow in places. It was made so all the yarn ends hung loose off the outside of the garment. Yet made so none of the yarn could be unraveled.
She studied it in the adult’s hands. She ran out of words to tell the giver her thanks. She ran out of words to describe her delight. Could she wear it now? Yes, of course she could. Could she let the other kids see? Yes, of course she could, but don’t give it away!
She slipped the coat on and found it was a little too big. She said she would try to stop growing so she could wear the coat longer. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were giving the coat itself a hug from the inside. Happy and jubilant, the girl thanked the adult one last time before racing outside. She was happy to be able to play with her friends. She was happy that she was given a gift. But most of all, she was happy for the coat itself. She would make many stories about each piece of yarn.
She was poking in the dirt again. There was nothing else to do, and even that bored her. She was by herself because everyone hated her. That’s what she told herself. No one wants to play with her because her family is too poor to afford dirt. That’s what she told others.
She heard her name called and turned to see the adult that walked up to her. The adult held out something and said it was hers. Her face blanched at the sight. Is this really hers? It is. Oh help, it is.
The coat was made of a myriad of short lengths of yarn, tied and knitted together to make a scrap yarn coat. It was lined with a thin stained cloth, could have once been a bedsheet, or a tablecloth. Some of the yarn was thin, some was thick. Some was soft, some was rough. Some was as smooth as ice, some was textured like a hundred knots. The yarns were of many different colors. Mostly dark blue and browns, but there were shocks of red and thumb’s width of bright yellow in places. It was made so all the yarn ends hung loose off the outside of the garment. Yet made so none of the yarn could be unraveled.
She studied it in the adult’s hands. She ran out of words to yell her disappointment. She ran out of words to describe her dismay. She is not expected to wear that, is she? What punishment! She’s supposed to put it on now? What if someone sees! She’s determined to throw it into the first fire she comes across! This is the only coat she’s getting all winter? None else?
She ripped the coat from the giver’s hands and threw it onto the ground. The giver picked it up, shook the dust from it, and handed it to her again. She refused to put the coat on, crossed her arms, and turned away. The giver held it against her back to measure the fit. It was a little too big for now, but she’ll be able to wear it all winter. Maybe even into spring! She snatched the coat and tried to rip it into pieces, but the scrap yarns were woven well. The yarn cut into her hands and she bleed from the myriad of slips. The giver slipped away during her tantrum. When she noticed she was alone again, she threw the scrap yarn coat into the dirt and cried how no one would ever play with her because she is dirty and poor and wear poor people clothes. She cried herself to sleep repeating the same story to herself, over and over, that she didn’t deserve to be poor and no one wanted her.
I wake with a start in the Boneyard. Ravenwoman left during my slumber, and in her stead I am surrounded by dozens of ravens. I wonder if I have erred, but they look at me in a gentle fashion. The fire that had embraced me had ceased and I am laying on a bed of smouldering bones. The smoke is thick but I find it is pleasantly fragrant. I know if I were anywhere else, the scent would have me retching. But I am a bone-burner, in the Boneyard. This is what I am. This is what I do. This is where I do it. It smells like a job well done.
I look up at the ravens. A few look down at me with a quizzical look on their face. “Why the hell aren’t you asleep? Too early to get up.” Their expressions seem to speak without words. I chuckle, nod, and close my eyes.
The winds in the exposed clearing are gently wiping my face. They whisper I have to get up soon. I nod in acceptance. A sudden gust blows over me, extinguishing the flames that have danced upon my body the entire time. Darkness overwhelms the clearing, and my awareness.
Oh. Hey. I’m awake. Okay.
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