Death Cheers

The first teardrops slipped down the redden cheeks of Mrs. Lemme. Nineteen years she raised the stoic, youth before her, hidden beneath a bronze face plate. Now, his remaining life flickered like a lonesome candle, unseen to her desperate eyes behind a strip of darkness.

She clasped the shoulder pauldrons of her son’s bulky ceremonial armor. He was far from her, trapped behind folded steel so she could not feel his warm skin or quickened heartbeats. Her wet eyes looked for their shared, caramel pupils but the visor stared back, masked from emotion.

“Mother,” Jabari tried to whisper. “Please don’t fuss. The Greater Houses will reward our family. You'll be taken care of.”

“I… I can’t. You're...”

Grimacing, the mother inhaled a violent gasp through trembling lips. She shut her eyes, holding back more salty droplets and the bloodshot of her pupils.

“Please try, Mum.”

“I am… I just… You look like your father again.”

A sigh echoed from the helmet, piercing the whispering silence of a waiting crowd. Human shadows danced around the pair. Jabari’s siblings, their neighbors, and countless patriots. “Don't make this harder…” He gulped through his words. “Your tears will sully me...”

Mrs. Lemme gasped again, her lips forming a terrified O-shape. Her protest was silent. If she intended to find more words to speak, the crowded street had other plans.

A cry erupted from the surrounding audience. One, then two, then many. Crackles of brash tones and explosions roared in the midday light. Fireworks and ceremony brass filled the cross-ways. The street choked with celebration as the crowd shuffled forward, clutching scrolls and tablet posters with inscriptions praising heroes and conquests from the Tengu Orthodoxy’s many, previous campaigns.

Jabari grabbed his mother’s shoulders, pulling her as close as his breast plate allowed so she was not swept away by the crowd. His quiet siblings held on too, their bright eyes lost at the sea of people. Someone nearby shouted to them, “Come, Hero! Your sendoff celebration awaits!”

The crowd blurred, quickening towards the main square and the boom of trumpets. Their cheers and arts were colorful and pastel, shivering like autumn trees before a terrible storm. The world darkened through Mrs. Lemme’s half-lidded eyes, still searching and failing to find her son’s face. “My young Jabari… You won't survive.”

“Mother. This isn’t a choice anymore. I spent my adolescent years preparing for this day. We all knew it would come. I'm proud...” The declaration did not reach his voice.

Mrs. Lemme shook her head. “Not like this. Not this at all.”

“But Father—”

“He was a sailor. Not a sacrifice.”

“—I won’t be!” Jabari reassured but his voice hitched too. He barely had the guts to lie to her, the widow of a navy man. He let his tone speak truth, not his words. After all, the only worse sin than lying to yourself was to lie to your mother.

Mrs. Lemme's desperation rustled another scaly creature inside the young man. His armor shivered, his mind drifting to a boat in the bay far below. Black sails, calling to him. It cried, 'Leave. Get over this. Adventure awaits.'

Jabari flinched at his own annoyance and impatience. Both emotional directions crashed into another, not as a union, like a storm front. Why would he want to escape his own mother? Why try to escape to the sea? Maybe he wanted to race his own finite timeline, maybe the gods would be merciful if he succeeded faster.

“Brother? Why is Mama crying?” A seven-year-old Andretti questioned with a tug on the warrior’s embroidered, yellow belt. Jabari had to crane his neck down to see his brother past the ornaments and cape straps.

He paused. To a brother, a lie was a promise to ‘mend things later.’ Andretti would forgive Jabari. Like he would forgive their father many years later. “They are tears of joy. Don't fear.”

“Where are you going then? I don't want you to go.”

The cold helmet visor nodded. “It's okay. It will be an adventure, to be a hero. You need to grow up fast and strong to take care of Mum while I'm gone.”

“But when will you come back?”

Another pause. Jabari was caught by the question. He knew the answer, so did his mother. More lies then. “Soon. When the time is right.”

Silence ruled the family. Maybe they all suspected something was amiss. Younger sister Zuri didn’t speak up, maybe she didn’t trust her voice either. Or the crowd scared her. Even to a twelve-year-old, stomping feet, brass, and cannons could be the noise of a bullish monster coming to pull her into an eternal darkness. Jabari once feared such ghosts, but not anymore. He only felt numb.

“I’ll be alright. You will be too,” Jabari added. “Zuri, take care of your brother. Andretti, take care of your Mum and sister. Keep the house warm until I return. The Gods smile on all of us, but I do have to go now.”

He pulled the bunch in tighter, trying and straining with great effort to get his ironclad arms around his entire family. It was not impossible but a gap remained, a place where interlocking hands should've found a beaming father. Father was gone.

“I miss you, Son.” His mother called after him. Jabari gave her a gentle nudge off his breast plate, pulling away. His commander and squad were waiting for him. A sharp, knowing glimmer flashed in her eyes before vanishing. She hid it well but Jabari caught it anyway. The mother and son seemed to share the same thoughts, but their conclusions reach far different landscapes.

That now-unspoken anger drew out old memories. Mrs. Lemme sputtered and blustered on many, long nights leading up to today's sendoff. How unfair and cruel the Greater Houses were. How cowardly his commander was. Mrs. Lemme blamed everyone but her son. She could never. He let her scream behind closed doors, knowing this was better than the alternative.

It would break her heart to know he volunteered. So he hid it, and let his mother dream and curse the leadership and the officers. He prayed to the gods for this particular transgression. He sinned on his mother to protect her heart. In the gallows between life and death, it might balance out. Maybe?

Jabari would lead his squad's parade procession, then set out on Conquest as one of several young heroes called upon by the Day of Joyous Lances. His unit was just his wallpaper of supporting caricatures, they just marched through the motions. He would leave alone. Down the street, down to the square, through the crowds and cheers. In a few hours, down to the boat ramp and into a rowboat where destiny called.

“I will miss you, Mother. Take care of yourself, wish me safe travels, don’t wish me wrong.”

“They’ll send you with a poor crop of men. Your leader is sending you alone to your—”

Jabari raised a hand before Mrs. Lemme could speak ill of his commander further. His dutiful wave quieted her once more. She found her words, but he also found his. “I promise. I will bring honor to our family name. Father would be proud.”

She didn’t then, a lone grimace stuck on her cheeks and lips. Jabari turned with great effort of his stiff armor, each step requiring significant effort. The suit was never meant for his lanky size, but he would be out of it soon enough. Once his brass visor faced toward the downtown square and the bay beyond, he didn’t look back.

“Mama, can we go watch the parade?” Andrette called out, pointing as his brother vanished into the crowd.

“No.”

Jabari heard the rejection. His blood ran hot but his nerves remained cold. He finally allowed himself a shivering heave, a precursor to his own coming terror. For now, he just needed to get through the morning and get to his ship.

Today was the last time he would see his family. He wanted to crush the part of him feeling an undue amount of excitement. The mask did its job, hiding away his joyless smile.

. . .

Three hours later, Jabari was free of his sweaty armor and dressed in a water-sprayed, white dress shirt and patched tunic pants. He was allowed to sit at the bow of the dingy rowboat while four tired sailors rowed and two guards watched ships drift through the Grand Dandelion Harbor, choked by all manner of boats with a dozen different fin and sail-types.

A dark vessel, with black sails, stood out from the rest. Streaks of subtle, maroon patching marked every flag and sail of the superstructure. The name “Wolfen Drake,” glowed on its side from a fresh coat of white paint.

Here lay Jabari’s vessel, his home for the coming three-month journey. Drake was a beautiful ship. His beautiful coffin. Hidden under the rocky ocean spray, Jabari allowed himself another terrible heave. His destiny laid ahead.