Half Moon Rising-Chapter 11

Notes:

• Sorry I took a while for this chapter. My brother and I competed in a Taekwondo championship yesterday after church, and getting ready for that took a lot of free time.

• Next chapter? I will try. Honestly. But I got two new art books for my birthday…which may cause slight delay.

Chapter 11 In Control?

When Esben finally woke Artham up, they only had about an hour until the meeting that afternoon.

“Artham…Artham, wake up!” Esben said as he shook his brother’s arm.

“Mmmhm…back to sleep…” Artham rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. Esben looked at Artham for a minute, wondering what he should do. There was one option…and it was one that the old Artham always acted extremely annoyed at but clearly enjoyed. Maybe this was his chance to make sure that the old Artham wasn’t really gone. After a moment of speculation, Esben moved to the foot of his brother’s bed, and as softly as possible, climbed onto the mattress, the edges of a real smile sneaking around his lips.

“Wake up!!” Esben shouted and immediately began bouncing on his brother’s bed.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

“Ah! What’s-going-o-n? Esben, wh-at are you-doing?” Artham managed to say mostly in between bounces.

“It’s time to get up! Now hurry, or else!”

“Es-ben, stop-b-ounc-ing!”

“Not until you’re up!”

“Okay, Okay, I’m up, see?” Artham managed to get off the bed and threw his pillow at his brother, who had now stopped bouncing. The happy look on Esben’s face made Artham smile without realizing it.

“What time is it?” He asked anxiously, looking out the window at the afternoon sky.

“Almost three.”

“What? Oh no, the meeting! What time does it start? Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“Because you needed it,” Esben replied. “I would have let you sleep longer, but you need to go wash up before the meeting. You stink. But don’t worry, we still have about an hour to go.” As Esben had expected, Artham did look a little bit annoyed. Then he said something that surprised Esben.

“Well, thanks. I guess. I do feel better.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe I should make you sleep more often. You’d probably be less grumpy.” Artham grinned and threw his other pillow in Esben’s direction.

“Probably not. Now get out of here so I can get cleaned up.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Esben left the room after reminding his brother to hurry up, and closed the door behind him. For a minute after his brother left, the smile lingered on Artham’s face. He tried not to think about the meeting coming up, because it felt so good to be happy. But his smile quickly disappeared with his next thought.

I shouldn’t feel happy. Or should I? Not with the funeral coming up. What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be able to move on that quickly. Am I really that shallow? That I want to move on like this? But Esben looked so happy. For once these last two weeks he didn’t seem depressed. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. If it made Esben forget about being sad for a while, then great. That’s probably how I should be acting. What am I supposed to do? It feels so wrong to act happy, but it helped Esben.

Artham’s train of thought continued along these lines after he got cleaned up and headed to meet his brother in one of the smaller meeting rooms. As soon as he stepped inside, all thoughts of being happy disappeared. There were only about five people in the room, besides Esben and Bonifer. And they were all discussing the funeral. Those other five were some of his parents’ and aunt’s best friends after greeting each of them, Artham sat down and listened, trying to decide whether or not to tune out of the conversation. Very quickly, he decided he did not want to be in this meeting. The now familiar but no less painful wave of grief washed over him again, as he heard about the funeral plans. Several people began talking about his parents, remembering how kind or generous or loyal they had been. The conversation took a decidedly sad turn, and one or two people placed a hand on Artham or Esben’s shoulders, effectively wiping away anything that remained of the lighter feelings Artham had felt earlier. He nodded and smiled, thanking people for their sympathies, and felt an immense relief when the conversation turned back to planning.

For a minute he breathed deeply, telling himself to act like he was controlled even if he didn’t feel like it, and tried to listen. After a while, he decided to not pay attention to anything the people around him were saying unless it had a date, time, or his name attached. This worked well for a while, and he silently recited a strain of poetry, focusing hard on the words, wondering if it would help him forget how he felt.

Then, something that had been repeated throughout the meeting caught his ear. All through this funeral planning, people had been talking about the Maker. There would be traditional Annieran songs, thanking the Maker for the lives of those who had passed on, and committing those left behind into his keeping.

Song after song was brought up as two of his mother’s friends tried to decide which ones would be played at the funeral, but the longer they talked, the less Artham listened. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, hoping that the people around him wouldn’t interrupt his thinking. The Maker. Some feeling that Artham at first didn’t recognize swelled inside him, and he curled his hands into fists as he tried to sort it out.

You are supposed to be all powerful, he thought, addressing the Maker before he realized he was doing it. People say that even the wind and the waves obey you. As Artham’s thoughts continued to run, he realized that this feeling inside him was a part of the overwhelming wave of emotions he had been experiencing.

You say that you care about us. We are supposed to be in your keeping. Artham began breathing harder as some part of him told him to stop thinking like this before it got out of control. To stop trying to figure out what he was feeling before he did something he shouldn’t.

If you really care about us, if you could control the sea they sailed on, The feeling swelled up inside Artham until it felt like it was choking him. His eyes were still squeezed shut and by the silence around him he could guess that people were worried about him again. But all of that seemed far away as he realized what was the root of the anger he didn’t understand. His next thought sounded so harsh and cold that he almost stopped himself before he thought it.

Then why did you let them die?