Dusana
the first thurible;;
Glass shards, like tiny knives, form the walls of grandmama's arca, her precious soul thurible. The tool that all cleansers need to siphon the souls from their physical world. It is set on the counter top as an example of what one actually looks like. It's tall and a beautiful azure colour. Dusana is fourteen and yearns to make one just as beautiful.
The sun has barely risen when she sits patiently to make her first arca. She wouldn't get to use it until she finishes training, but she is restless when she imagines the possibilities.
"Watch closely Sanki, take a pinch of spire dust and scatter it on the side that will face the fire when you put it in. It will make your arca stronger and give your glass its colour." Grandmama uses tongs to slide the glass into the furnace. "White spots will appear on the glass when it is ready. Be quick to take it out or it could warp the glass when it cools of you could burn the glass." Grandmama says this as she points to the surfacing white blooms.
She quickly removes the glass from the furnace and with fluid ease, she guides the glass into oblong shapes, forming the sides of an arca in mere minutes.
"There that is how it is done Sanki" Grandmama passes the tongs and to Dusana. "Now step up to the fire and we will see how you do."
Dusana does what her Grandmama instructs and tries to replicate her movements. She feels like a clumsy deer as she shuffled from side to side so the glass is over the flames.
"Pay attention Sanki!" grandmama chides. "You are letting the glass burn."
Sure enough, Dusana sees the fire consuming the glass. Upon her realization, Dusana quickly removes the glass from the furnace. "Grandmama what should I do?!" Dusana manages to yell out.
She starts looking around wildly for a solution. She spots a tub of water and rushes towards it. As Dusana drops the glass in the water she faintly hears her grandmama say something, but it is drowned out by the hammering of her heart."
Phew that was a close one" Dusana relieved, brings a hand to her forehead to wick away the sweat. However, the water starts to ignite as fire rises to the surface. "Grandmama! Why is this happening?!" Dusana runs over to her grandmama, one hand clutched the tongs and one hand clutching her grandma's apron.
"Ahh you silly girl," her grandma looked very serene as she takes the tongs from her hands and pats her head. "Calm down, now fetch the iron lid we keep by the urns and cover the water barrel. We're going to let it burn itself out." Dusana nearly trips over her feet to retrieve the cover and slams it over the fire resolutely.
"If you were listening to your papa's stories, you would have known that spire dust is very delicate and catches on fire easily. Trust me, he should know from experience. He did the same thing when he was in your shoes," Her grandmama crinkles her eyes with glee as she recalls the memory. "Only he was a lot worse, he set fire to nearly half the workshop and was still panicking in front of the furnace when I rushed over". Grandmama handed the tongs back to Dusana and nudged her back in front of the forge.
"Wow really?" Dusana's eyes lost their fear and were replaced with laughter.
"Yes really Sanki. Now be more careful with this piece,"Grandmama says while placing the glass between the tongs. She sprinkles the spire dust onto the glass and steps back. "The forging of spire dust is what allowed your great great grandparents to join the cleansers. It was a break through for cleansers since they were using minerals like silver and gold dust to fortify their thuribles, but those are weak materials, to begin with," Her grandmother says. "Your ancestors possessed great ingenuity and even they accidentally discovered the forging uses of the spire dust. I recall my grandparents telling me about their fair share of fires."
Dusana keeps a better eye on the glass as she listens to the story. When the white spots appear she starts to mould it into the frame.
"Spire dust is much stronger, even if it is more flammable, but it gave us the chance at this new, thrilling journey. Now you get the chance to become part of this tradition." With a flourish of the hand, she finishes her tangent and looks at Dusana's moulding.
"Good, good. It's not warped, but the moulding could be more square, but I think this is a good try. Now finish your other pieces." Confident that Dusana will do a good job, her grandmama takes a seat near the forge.
Dusana feels tired just from that first piece, but she forges on regardless. She doesn't think her grandmama would let her leave without finishing more of her arca anyways.
It took many long hours since Dusana rose up at dawn to start the forging process. She forgot her hunger and continued forging well past noonday. Even longer, now the sun has nearly left the sky and she kept on forging. Her grandmama would leave occasionally to set glasses of water to the side, many of which sat half full and forgotten.
It was well into the night when she finally finished. It is smaller and simpler then she would like, but the light glints off the blue in such a mystical way. Dusana hugs the arca close to her chest and releases a relieved sigh.
the last resting song;;
Dusana has heard the sounds of war along with the sorrow and the shambles of the people that littered the field after. The bodies are frozen in death with faces that are distorted into soundless cries, only the quiet footsteps of the cleansers dissipate the silence.
When she hit the hilt of her knife against the thurible, a hypnotising ringing echoes through the air. She hears the songs of the other cleaners nearby as they create a cacophonous wail for the fallen lives. As the ringing flies through the air, fine mist slowly rises from the soldiers around her. Many of the spirits detach from their vessels easily, however there is the occasional soul that clings fervently to their deceased selves. In those times, Dusana stands close and comforts the spirit until they are ready to leave. She whispers to them softly and helps them to depart the world with calm resoluteness.
Dusana uses her knife to free the spirits from their bodies and allows them to float into her arca. They do not get individual funeral rights, but she is comforted knowing that they at least have Dusana and the other cleansers to see them off.
The heavy mist is lifted as more souls are cleansed from the land. By then the sounds of the world around the fields return. It is time for the cleansers to leave when vultures start circle ahead and coyotes start creeping out of the forests. The cry of the arcas lure them in so they can make use of the lives that were lost and return them to nature.Since the animals will take care of their bodies, the cleansers take care of their souls.
When twilight begins, the banks of the river are dotted with colour. Dusana opens the latch of her thurible and a mist flow into the heart of her paper lantern. She sets the lantern on the river and lights the ring on fire. Her lantern joins the masses as they ride the currents to their final resting place.
Dusana sounds one final song for the fallen soldiers. Her arca vibrating a trill taking the place of the last funeral hymms and songs the soldiers will never receive. Mist slowly rises from the lanterns and obscure the light of the lanterns. Some even rise to follow the moon, until the mist disappears from view all together.