The Myth of Kalvartr: Sample Edition

Snow still coated the ground in places, clung onto the branches of trees and small brushwood. Spring was fast approaching, flowers already starting to blossom. It was on this cold and dreary day that Annabelle and Thomas walked to the church grounds to say a final farewell to their departed father. A small crowd had gathered, some friends of Terryn, others just there to show their condolences for a fellow citizen of the Zhan Kingdom.

  Annabelle had fashioned herself in a black gown and mantle, the same suit she had worn not too long ago at her aunt’s burial. The dress itched at her skin, having been lying in the wardrobe for so many months collecting dust. It was beginning to become too short, as well. She had grown a few inches since her aunt’s passing.

  The graveyard was a sore sight, filled with old gravestones and symbols of the God of Death – Carnac. Annabelle looked away from those markers, frightened for a moment. She grabbed her brother’s hand and held it tight, being careful not to also clutch the delicate flower in her other hand. It was a yellow orchid, her father’s favourite flower. She recalled it being his preferred choice because her mother had loved them. Now it would rest on his grave.

  The high priest had made his way to the front of the group, his long robe brushing the bits of snow as he walked. He took out the sacred book of the church from within his robes and spread it open, the silence so deafening that Annabelle could hear the pages crackle.

  ‘We are all gathered here today to witness the life and death of Terryn Roman, husband of Annette Roman, father of Thomas and Annabelle Roman. May Carnac take his soul into the great beyond, the place of life after life, and peace for all who die.’

  Annabelle closed her eyes and droned out the priest as he continued on with his death speech. She had listened to enough talk of death and rebirth over the past year for the remainder of her life. What she would not give to have lived carefree, like the wealthy girls of the Hillstate Manor, who could afford medicine for even the direst illnesses. Expensive meals and dresses she could do without, but to have her family back would be more than enough to please her.

  The book shut loudly and her eyes flickered open. She looked to the casket near the hole in the ground. It was a simple box. It was not fancy like the royal casket she had once seen heading to the church, as the King’s knights had brought out a member of the regal family within one. No, this casket would rot easily within the ground over years of decay. It would not last the ages, like those born of noble blood. The very thought made her sad.

  The grounds workers lowered the box into the hole, not too gently, and then began shovelling dirt over the top, until Annabelle could no longer see the casket. Flowers were placed upon the earth afterwards, and a wooden symbol of Carnac was stuck into the ground.

  People began to file out, one by one disappearing from the graveyard. Soon it was only the children, their uncle, and the high priest left. The elderly man patted their uncle on the shoulder and then nodded to the children before heading back into his church.

  ‘You have not placed your flower yet, Anna,’ said Isaac.

  Annabelle looked down at the yellow orchid, vaguely reminded that the cheerful nature of the flower had nothing in common with her father, and then bent down beside the grave. She weaved the orchid through the gaps in the twisted symbol of Carnac and touched the ground, perhaps thinking that all of this was some distasteful dream and she would awake soon.

  ‘Come along, then,’ said her uncle.

  She heard his footsteps wander off down the path, slow and heavy. She looked over her shoulder to see her brother staring down at her.

  ‘He is better off now,’ he said. ‘Whether you want to believe me or not, our father is in a better place … a place where he is free of what haunted him.’

  Annabelle pressed her hands against her knees and rose up again, straightening her back. ‘Thomas, I do not doubt that our father is free of his pain now. I do, however, doubt that you have even an ounce of sympathy within you.’ She just then noticed the old diary concealed within his doublet, and snatched it away before he had a chance to react. ‘This –’ She waved the book wildly ‘– is the very poison that has clouded your mind of late! Wherever did you find such a thing, Thomas?’

  He tried to grab it from her, but she pressed it tightly against herself, shielding away. He scowled.

  ‘Don’t act and talk like Aunt Catherine,’ he snapped. ‘You aren’t my mother, so stop behaving like it. Now give it back to me. It’s mine and it doesn’t matter where I found it.’

  ‘Well, I’m relieving you from its vileness,’ said Annabelle. ‘Perhaps I will give it back when you’ve come to your senses.’

  Thomas glowered and then stomped down the path after their uncle, the ends of his dark overcoat flapping in the breeze. Annabelle watched him run off, silently wishing that she hadn’t upset him so. She moved the book away from her dress and looked down at the old cover, moving her hand across the leather. If nothing else, it was an interesting sort of thing.

  The girl peered over her shoulder at the grave of mixed flowers. Hers was the brightest, the cheeriest.

  ‘It is an odd sort of irony,’ she spoke aloud to the dead.

  Annabelle stopped and turned once more before finally leaving the church grounds, forgetting something very important.

  ‘Good-bye, father.’