A Courtroom of Ashes

by C. S. Wilde

  “Forest of a Thousand Tears,” John says without looking back.

  “I don’t remember walking that much.”

  “That’s because we flew,” John explains as if it’s old news, taking a bite of a peach.

  Flew? He’s mocking me.

  “Sure! Why don’t we magically fly to this Home of yours then?”

  “Not that easy.” Irving stands by my side. “I can fly alone but I can’t carry anyone with me. John is stronger, so he managed to carry you, but he probably won’t be able to do it again for a while.”

  They’re serious. “How can you just fly for a while? You don’t have wings.” I check Irving’s back but I don’t think he’s got wings hidden under his light green checked shirt.

  Without a word, John stands up and turns to me. He takes a deep breath and rises about ten inches above the ground. Then he falls brusquely, bending over his knee and gasping for air. I run to him, almost tripping over a watermelon.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he sucks in quick breaths. “I’m fine.”

  “So you guys have to recharge?” This sounds absurd.

  “Aye, we do.” Irving tries to make his crooked glasses straight. “Think of it like hitchhiking on adrenaline. It burns with strength, allowing us to fly, but it ends fast. Takes quite a while to refill too.” He raises his head to the suns, eyes closed. For a split second, he looks profoundly sad. “This place feels like Life sometimes, but it isn’t. The same rules don’t always apply, but we find happiness with what we’ve got.”

  I like Irving. He’s got an answer for everything and boy, do I need answers. Death can be so complicated sometimes.

  “Thanks for trying to make sense of things, Irv.” I tap his back and he blushes, but that might be the effect of the two suns on his skin. If spirits can bleed, they surely must be able to get a rosy tan.

  “It’s in my nature, lass.”

  “There are quite a few things that don’t make sense in Death.” John takes off his damp suit jacket. “Like why Irving needs glasses.”

  “I think it’s because I believe I need them.” Irving puts his fixed glasses over his nose. They still lean slightly to the left.

  “Probably, but all we can do is guess. Death doesn’t come with an instruction guide.” John hands his suit jacket to me. “Can you hold onto that for a while?”

  I nod, not understanding why he’s asking this of me. Still, I put it on and secretly rejoice in the suit’s smell of seawater, a scent so intrinsic to John.

  After eating quickly, we walk down the hill, back into the white fur. We trek until my feet hurt and my throat scratches with thirst. When I ask if we can stop for a while, John hesitates and says, “Only for a moment. Time isn’t on our side.”

  We find a small stream where I drink for five minutes, and then we’re walking again.

  The day lingers in this place. It should be nighttime by now yet the suns keep shining proud and bright. My belly growls. I wish I had brought along some berries and apples.

  The white fur finally ends, and we enter a forest of thick, tall pine trees that stand like sentries. I feel small and trapped. The suns shine outside the woods, but inside it seems dusk is about to set. Gray makes love to green as a fog covers the ground, and a soft, metallic scent mixes with the smell of the pines. I know this scent, it’s blood.

  “Don’t worry, it only looks creepy. It’s a first-line defense for the Home,” John says as we stomp over leaves and roots, walking side by side. “Is the jacket dry?”

  “Yup.”

  He takes the jacket and puts it on. It instantly becomes damp again.

  How did he do that?

  The question must’ve been stamped on my face, because John doesn’t link with me before saying, “No matter what clothes I put on, they always get wet.”

  “Forever?”

  John nods.

  I check my own clothes. “Does this happen to every spirit?”

  “Some,” he says. “Those who are traumatized by the way they went.”

  Pointing at Irving, I say, “He seems fine.”

  “I died of old age, lass,” Irving reminds me without turning his back to us. “And I’ve been dead longer than John. Don’t worry, I’m sure once he’s ‘old’ enough, the wet suit will be history.”

  “So why are you still wearing glasses?” John teases.

  “Because I bloody well like them, all right?”

  “Who are you?” says a child’s voice from behind.

  It’s a nine-year-old boy with brown eyes swamped with curiosity. A moss flat cap sits atop his unruly dark hair, in fact, all of his clothes seem to have come straight out of the nineteenth century. He reminds me of Oliver Twist. His cheeks are soiled from playing too much outdoors.

  My chest tightens when I realize this boy is dead.

  “You’ve got a bit o’ light,” he says.

  Nothing in my body seems to be shining.

  Oliver giggles. “In your eyes, misses. Like two rings o’ light.”

  John steps in with both hands on his hips. “Tommy, what are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

  Tommy lifts his chin. “I’m an explorer, like you, Spritebreaker.”

  Spritebreaker? I thought his last name was Braver.

  John approaches Tommy and bends over, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Not a good time to explore, buddy. Last time you wandered off, Molly went crazy, remember?”

  Tommy puffs his cheeks and crosses his arms. “She overreacted, Spritebreaker! The blonde lady helped me find me way back!”

  “Wait, blonde lady?” I rush toward Tommy. “What did she look like? Did she tell you her name?”

  He squeezes his face in the same way someone squeezes orange juice. “Yes! Misses Barbara was her name!”

  Barbie was here! She’s okay! There could be a million blonde Barbaras in this place, but I know it’s her. It has to be.

  Irving slaps his forehead. “We forgot to ask the children about yer friend!”

  “When did you see her?” I ask. “Where did she go?”

  Tommy looks up, a finger tapping his chin. “Four full moons back. But I don’t know where she went, misses.”

  Irving frowns. “She didn’t want to come to the Home?”

  “She said she needed some time alone, Mister Irving, but that she’d come back later.”

  John looks at me as if he’s going to tell me my dog died.

  “John, when was four full moons back?”

  “Way before she showed herself to you.”

  An iron ball pulls my excitement to the center of this goddamned planet. I’m back at the beginning, but it’s better than nothing. Barbie was here and so am I. I’m closer to finding her than I ever was.

  Every situation has a silver lining, I guess.

  Tommy cocks his head to the left and squints at me. “Where did you find the misses, Spritebreaker?”

  “Somewhere.” John grabs Tommy’s sleeve and drags him with us. “Let’s go back home, shall we?”

  Tommy pouts. “Hey, I’m older than you!”

  “You died before I did. That doesn’t mean you’re older here.” John taps his forehead and winks at me. I can’t help but smile.

  Soon we’re out of the woods and it’s day again. Standing at the edge of the forest, I see that it borders hills surrounding a valley below. The defense mechanism makes sense now; the forest is supposed to conceal the village. Tiny fairy-tale houses fill the valley with carefully groomed gardens, flowers on the balconies, and wooden porches with rocking chairs. A caramel house on the far left looks like it might actually be made of gingerbread.

  “What on earth?” I blurt. “How’s this possible?”

  “Welcome to the Home,” Irving smiles, spreading his arms. “A place filled with spirit!”

  John rolls his eyes. “Good one.”

  As we walk down a dirt road, children approach, running and laughing. I try to avoid sudden movements, hoping they’ll ignore me.
Wild animals and children, the same rules apply.

  They all greet Tommy, and he plays it cool by nodding and smiling in a cocky way. I hate to admit it, but he’s rather adorable, and that means a lot coming from someone who thinks children are as cute as starving gremlins.

  Tommy seems to be the leader of their pack, a Peter Pan in his own way.

  A brown boy with big squirrel eyes tells Tommy he’ll see him later, while a little Asian girl with round cheeks skips up to us. She peers at me for a while until I shoo her away. “Move along, kid. Nothing to see here.”

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” she asks.

  “Magic,” Tommy says with pride.

  The little girl blows her lips. “There’s no magic in Death.”

  “Of course there is, lass,” Irving says. “Look ‘round ye. Houses, people, sky, trees…are we really dead?”

  She lowers her face. “No.”

  “And isn’t that magical?”

  She lets out a tentative smile. “I guess so.”

  The black boy calls for the little girl and she offers an absent good-bye before hopping away with her friends.

  “Stay away from the woods!” John says, but I’m not sure if they heard him.

  I think John would be a great father, not just because of his caution, but because of his kindness. Death might not have the same rules we have back on earth, and these people might never grow old, but it’s nice to see them living fairly normal lives. It gives me a strange sense of peace.

  Tommy watches me with eyes half closed and lips pressed together. I’m not sure if he’s trying to figure me out or if he has gas. Probably the second.

  “Kid, you better not be farting that close to me.”

  He bursts into laughter, arms clasped around his belly. John and Irving chuckle, clearly trying to contain their laughs.

  “He looked like he was about to fart,” I say. “Kids are good with disgusting stuff like that!”

  As we continue on, more grownups come into the picture, dressed like villagers from the Middle Ages, selling vegetables, fruits, and flowers on the streets. Then more people come up. Some wear kimonos or puffy pants, or jeans and T-shirts, or suits or even gowns. Others wear rags, but they don’t look like they mind. They actually seem happy. A guy with a purple Mohawk and too much eyeliner, dressed in a black leather jacket with metallic spikes, talks timidly to a lady in Victorian clothes.

  Many villagers greet Irving as we venture deeper into the village, slowing our journey.

  “Irv is a pampered spirit,” John says with a childlike smile. “He was lucky to have awakened near the Home. They took him as family, but they do that with anyone.”

  Irving slaps John starkly on his back and I’m surprised by his strength. Irving looks so skinny and fragile compared to John.

  “Aye, I was lucky, mate, but good boys deserve what they get!”

  John’s head drops slightly.

  “Hey, ye just got dropped off in the wrong place, that’s all.” Irving slaps John’s back a second time and John’s smile blooms back to life.

  I’m beginning to appreciate the bromance between Irving and John. There are so many people here, from so many different times and places. It’s been said that we die alone, but maybe we don’t need to be alone after death. Perhaps the Home is a sanctuary where people can go through the afterlife together.

  “Irving!” A ginger woman in her forties stands at a roundabout in the middle of the village.

  She opens her arms and Irving meets her hug like a little boy. She looks and dresses like a typical matron: curly tresses of fire trapped in a loose bun, flushing cheeks beneath a white skin, some extra pounds and of course, a light green apron hanging around her waist, which perfectly matches her long-sleeved moss dress. Even though she’s only an inch taller than Irving, she lifts him from the ground with ease.

  “I’m glad you’ve come back safe and sound,” she says to Irving. Then she eyes Tommy, and I don’t need to link with her to understand he has misbehaved. Apparently he gets the message too, because he shrinks behind my legs. “I’m also glad you found this little one,” she adds. “He tends to wander off farther than the others, and Shades are everywhere these days.”

  She lets Irving go and finds John, grabbing his cheeks. “But of course you’re safe, you’ve got your brother John Spritebreaker!”

  Seriously, what is it with this Spritebreaker thing?

  Molly eyes me as if she’s just seen me here. “You boys brought company?”

  “Molly, this is Santana.” John sounds funny with his cheeks still stretched underneath her fingers.

  She lets him go and before I know it, I’m drowned by her bosoms, trapped in a tight hug.

  “Welcome, Santana!”

  Her embrace, though suffocating, assures me that no matter what happens, I’ll be safe here. Molly is the incarnation of the word ‘motherly,’ and it’s the first time I’ve experienced that firsthand. I never knew what ‘motherly’ felt like.

  As soon as she lets me go, I take in a sharp breath. Her matron ways turn serious when she analyzes my eyes.

  “You’re not dead.” She balls her fists over her hips. “You’re not glowing either!”

  “Glowing?”

  “When we link with the living in their dreams, we transport them here in a way,” John says. “It’s like we make a temporary copy of them, one that can exist in our world. They’re here but not really here, which is why they look like a glowing ghost.” I stare at him, trying to picture what he means, so he adds, “Like Ben Kenobi in Star Wars.”

  Ah, yes. John is gorgeous and he likes Star Wars. I catch myself brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ears, and John smiles shrewdly at me.

  “Did I look like that when you brought me here?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think the person who’s alive notices it.”

  “You’re not dreaming and you’re not dead.” Molly’s brow furrows into a tiny V. “What then?”

  John says under his breath “Red Seth.”

  “Say no more.” Molly looks around, checking whether anyone heard John. She signals a silent “follow me,” as she takes Tommy by his hand.

  11

  We walk up the graveled main road to a dark wooden cottage far from the fairy-tale houses. It sits at the border of the forest, far from the center of the village. The cottage is simpler than the other houses but it still oozes a fairy-tail aura with its carefully trimmed yard and a curvy trail of smoke coming out of the chimney.

  “Why do all of you live in houses? I thought spirits didn’t need any of that.”

  Molly shrugs. “Technically, we could stay outdoors forever, but we still feel cold and tired like we did when we were alive. Most of all, we feel lonely. This is how we cope.”

  The door opens into a small living room that looks like the inside of a cabin: a fur carpet in front of the fireplace, a flowered armchair nearby, a big brown, puffy couch at the right, bookcases on the left.

  Molly directs us to a wooden table and hands out flowered plates faster than I can say ‘finally.’ Bread and cheese follow, and I immediately snatch a big chunk of bread, stuffing it in my mouth. Before swallowing, I add in a small piece of cheese.

  The grown-ups stare at me, but Tommy giggles.

  “Sowy,” I try not to sputter but it’s fruitless.

  Molly looks disapprovingly to John and Irving. “You boys should know better, given she’s still alive. The poor thing was starving!”

  I wonder what she means, but John is quick to answer. “Spirits like Irving and me don’t need to eat as often as we did back on earth. You on the other hand, are recently disembodied. We should have known fruits wouldn’t be enough.”

  “It’s mmkay.” The bread melts in my mouth and I can’t stop eating it.

  Molly trails her finger across her lips as she observes me. “What did Red Seth do to you?”

  “I thought linking could tell you that?”

  She snorts. “Depends on the
kind of linking. Anyway, I’d prefer if you told me.”

  Look at that, she knows how to respect personal boundaries. John could learn a thing or two from her.

  I swallow the lump of bread in my mouth. “Apparently he brought my spirit here so he can possess my body.”

  Molly gapes for a moment, but quickly clears her throat. “John, I think you should show Santana a bit of the Home after she’s done eating. We can meet here again for dinner.”

  “You’re dismissing us just like that?” John protests.

  “I’m afraid so. Irving and I need to go to the library.” She looks pointedly at Irving and he nods as if he has no other choice.

  I don’t like this at all. There’s something they’re not telling me.

  “May I show the misses our fields?” Tommy asks.

  Molly smiles and pats him on the head. “Of course, love.”

  She rises from the chair and lays her hand over mine. “You’re safe at the Home. You’ll be okay, Santana.”

  Her words bring me no comfort. People usually say things will be okay to hide the fact that they’re terrified.

  Molly eyes me for a second and I think she’s heard my thoughts. But maybe she’s a pro at reading people, like Mr. Baker. She lets out a rueful smile. “You’re too smart for your own good.” Then she leaves with Irving.

  ***

  We meander across a dirt road edged with fairy-tale houses when Tommy suddenly says, “It didn’t hurt.”

  “What are you talking about, kid?”

  Tommy bites his tiny lips and looks at the ground.

  Children. Go figure.

  John whispers in my ear, “He linked with you.”

  Oh, no! I was wondering how Tommy died. I bend over and take his arm gently, so that he’s turned to me. “Kid, you don’t have to tell me anything. It was silly curiosity.” I rise and cross my arms in a way that would make my dad proud. “Now, why were you linking with me without my permission?”

  “Sorry, misses,” he mumbles. “It’s hard to control sometimes.”

  “It’s okay. Are we good?”

  He nods with a smile that puffs his cheeks. I hate to say it, but it’s adorable.

  Children have always puzzled and scared me at the same time. Having them was out of the picture because, one, I focused on my career, and two, I’d be a terrible mother, given my lack of patience with the little monsters. But Tommy doesn’t scare me as much. Maybe it’s because he’s a free spirit, unafraid and curious. Or perhaps my mommy hormones are starting to kick in. I’m almost thirty after all…