Madeira stiffened when Maro said her name. No, not Maro, it was Djamila. How long had she known? Madeira could only smile, perhaps a little tightly, and whisper "of course." She would hold the Lie until the heat death of the universe if it meant Djamila could leave in peace.
Then they stood back, all the three of them, and watched the earthly remains of Djamila burn. The salt-choked logs burned a bright blue, but the smoke was an oily black that dispersed quickly in the unseasonably warm breeze. Madeira imagined all the filth and rot that drove her mad lifting away with that black smoke, leaving her clean and pure as she was swathed in flame.
She should say something, she thought dimly. Or, rather, Te’Ela should. She wracked her brain for last words. Something deep and loving, to sooth and acknowledge the fear about what came next. Something that forgave her for the madness that drove her to kill, and celebrate the life and obvious love she was leaving behind. But for the first time in a long time, she couldn't think of a thing to say. So she stood there, snaked her hand into Maro’s and let the heat wash over them both.
Then they stood back, all the three of them, and watched the earthly remains of Djamila burn. The salt-choked logs burned a bright blue, but the smoke was an oily black that dispersed quickly in the unseasonably warm breeze. Madeira imagined all the filth and rot that drove her mad lifting away with that black smoke, leaving her clean and pure as she was swathed in flame.
She should say something, she thought dimly. Or, rather, Te’Ela should. She wracked her brain for last words. Something deep and loving, to sooth and acknowledge the fear about what came next. Something that forgave her for the madness that drove her to kill, and celebrate the life and obvious love she was leaving behind. But for the first time in a long time, she couldn't think of a thing to say. So she stood there, snaked her hand into Maro’s and let the heat wash over them both.