Chapter Text
Burial shrouds were made of silk gauze. They were white, and were wrapped from the top of the head counter-clockwise until they covered the feet. Then, the head and feet were wrapped again. Cotton cloth, undyed, was wrapped clockwise three times until it held the gauze securely in place around the crown of the head, and the ankles.
There were rites. Acolytes read them out, and then cut into the chest cavity. Lungs, heart, and other major organs were moved out of the way. One disciple would bring in soil from the sacred grove, fill in the place where the heart was, and then Father would put a seed into the soil.
A new tree for the grove.
Dust returned to dust.
Simon crossed himself and waited for his mother to stand before rising himself. The congregation was gathered into a circular room with four exits, as most burial rooms were constructed. The walkways leading to these exits formed a cross, and in the center was a raised, square altar where a Brother's body was being lowered to join three others.
Every burial altar could generally fit three or four bodies inside it, but only the last to be buried was honored with a seed. Those that came before where placed shoulder-to-shoulder 2 meters under the soil, while the final addition would be close enough to the surface for the tree to receive light.
The honor was not reserved for Brothers, though. The one being prepared was a Sister, but it was odd in a different way. Usually, they were buried in their own station, but this one must have been exemplary in Father's eyes. A lot of Sisters were wonderful to him, including Simon's mother.
She was an apostle. A student of Father. Someone that Simon had the luxury of seeing very often. Children didn't get to see their blood family unless they were teachers, and teaching was a very prestigious occupation. Only those personally vetted by Father were allowed to hold lectures.
If someone was exceptionally lucky, they might get taught by one parent, and then become an apprentice to the other. This was generally avoided for the child's own good, though. It was too important for them to understand all adults were their Guardians. All of their peers were Brothers and Sisters. Most of those outside of Eden were Cousins, and though they were ignorant they were still to be held in the heart with love.
Enemies of Eden were not family, however. They would not join the grove, but they could still be given the honor of becoming soil to nourish it.
Simon's mother would tell him it was more than they deserved. She would shake sometimes when she whispered that. The hate she had for them was consuming, but Father gentled her. He was a constant comfort for everyone, but Simon… didn't like him very much.
He was tall, and had dark hair. His face was—what was his face like? Well, it was like Simon's. Many of the children of apostles looked like him, so that wasn't much of a surprise. Simon thought it was fascinating, and his mother told him that he would know exactly why once he'd come of age.
Ten years was how long most people had to wait to come of age, though according to calendars on Earth it was closer to nineteen years. Simon preferred the Martian count. Ten was a nice number to him. Solid. Kind of reddish, but with yellow edges.
His mother didn't understand what he was talking about when he said numbers were colorful. Words too, but they always felt more bright. It made sitting through long-winded sermons delightful, but sometimes a chapter and verse number would be sprinkled in and it felt a little like watching a tree's leaves change from spring green to gold.
Father saw how his eyes lit up and made a point to let him have extra time with the apostle that focused on Martian literature. He was often mistaken for the most devote of his generation due to how often he was quoting their holy scripture to himself, but he really just liked the fireworks he felt during some of the stories. He had all his favorites memorized, and some of his mother's too.
She loved the way he told them, the passion in his voice, and she said he was going to be such a good acolyte. Everyone was going to beg for him to read their rites, and he'd be an apostle in time. The little seed pin he was going to get once he was all grown up would grow into a fine olive branch in time. Perhaps, she would sometimes joke, even a tree.
Only Father had such an honor, and it felt a little blasphemous to suggest that Father was going to die before him, but Simon kept little secrets like that all the time. His mother had lots of them, and she often offered them freely. He held them in his heart, where there was no light, so they could not grow into anything uglier than they were.
Simon kept his eyes down while he swept, feeling heavy with the new secret he had to hold onto that evening. Not his mothers, but one he shared with a Brother. Another young man that was counting down the days of his apprenticeship and caught his arm after the burial was done. They waited for everyone to leave, told the acolytes they would clean up by themselves, and then…
Simon glanced over at the Brother who had wanted to be alone with him. There were still eyes in the room. Somewhere. The entire station had them. They couldn't do much save for look at each other, but sometimes looking was nice.
The Brother tied his shirt to keep it from hanging down and getting in his way while he made sure the lighting and acidity was optimal for the seed. He preferred it tied in the back, but struggled a little and had Simon make the knot for him.
Simon pat his back twice after tying it, but let his hand linger for a while as if he forgot it was there. He asked about things he wouldn't understand, but the young man was decent at explaining how the altar's system worked. It had a store of various chemicals that would be injected into the water that was misted onto the soil. Sometimes, it had to be re-adjusted, but testing the soil wasn't apprentice work unless a teacher was present for correction.
The Brother kept talking after Simon drifted away from him. His voice was lavender. A little pink. He probably would have gotten angry to hear something like that, but Simon found it rather pretty. Only very young children were allowed to wear it since it was generally associated with not having an apprenticeship. As an apprentice, he dressed in mostly lighter colors. Pale orange since he was going to be a pilot, crimson red since he’d come of age, but wasn’t clergy. He supposed he was lucky that looked good on him. At least, he figured it did. The young man seemed to like how it looked on him, but Simon wasn't much to look at, so he never held anyone's focus very long. That, or the young man simply liked the stars more than people.
Simon couldn't blame him. He preferred looking up too after a while, and his sweeping got a little slower.
There weren't a lot of rooms with a firmament, but all the burial chambers had them. They gave him a nice view of the stars, and sometimes even Mars if he was lucky enough to look at the right time. It was the main reason he volunteered so often to help clean up, though he'd usually get scolded for getting distracted.
Father found it amusing that he somehow managed to have his head in the clouds in a place with no true sky. At least, he seemed to be amused. There was a graveness permanently fixed in his eyes, but he would smile when he spoke with Simon. He wasn't a very nice person, but he was a good leader. He delegated well. Kept things running efficiently despite how difficult it was to keep a whole station operating with a dwindling population.
Once Father received his prophecy about the End, children were no longer permitted. The last generation was at hand, and Simon was a part it. His mother found it all pretty exciting. She'd been eager about seeing her husband again for years, and it seemed like it was finally right around the corner.
For the first time in a very long time, she seemed truly happy.
Simon was… scared. He knew he had no reason to be. He was told by everyone—everyone—that death was something to look forward to. The End was not the End, after all. They would all be seeing each other again once the grove was full.
He tightened his grip on the broom and looked down, repeating Galatians Six to himself until he felt ready to leave. His mother was waiting for him just outside the door. He could hear her laughter, pale blue and eggshell white, and did his best to resist reaching for her hand.
His hands needed to be cleaned a few times before he could touch anyone. It wasn't good to touch people after being in a burial chamber, after all, and he didn't want to make his mother feel like she needed to do two cleansings just because he was feeling weak.
He tucked his hands into his sleeves and held his own forearms to keep his fingers warm. The station was kept cold, just like Mars, and though he was well-adapted to it he felt it biting for once.
Simon glanced back, and the young man was watching him go. He waved, but Simon quickly turned his head to face his mother, and she whispered something odd to him.
"Father wants to see you, Simon. Did… something happen?"
Simon winced. He hadn't gotten in a fight recently. There wasn't any reason for him to fear punishment, but… he leaned over to his mother's ear and forced a smile.
"It'll be fine, Mom. See you tomorrow?"
She shook her head, and disappeared into one of the many rooms the main hall had for people to clean themselves up in.
Simon slipped into a smaller communal one and took his clothes off to toss them in a locker for sanitization. He washed himself among his peers, eyes up, and focused on the chatter around him. Green, copper, rust red… his eyes drifted down for a moment, and he realized he could see the tops of everyone's heads again. Damn.
Father had said he was a late bloomer, but he was already taller than most of the boys his age. How much more blooming was there? It had to end at some point, just like everything else. Just like…
Simon dried himself off and drifted over to his locker, watching the clothes he'd shoved in slowly tumbling dry. They fit as well as they usually did, but he didn't like them much. He missed the pink. It was softer, and didn't take so long to put on.
He didn't miss being small so much once he was in front of Father, though. It was easy to meet his eye, but Simon knelt the moment he arrived, lowered his head, and put his hands together to listen. Father set a hand very lightly on his head, and Simon looked up in alarm.
There was something empty in Father's eyes, and his smile was gone. He sat down, crossed his legs, and set his hands in his lap. Simon lowered his eyes again, and felt his back shivering.
He wasn't being punished. He wasn't even being scolded for taking so long to sweep.
Father was giving him news. Good news.
A small brooch shaped like an olive branch was held in Simon's field of vision, and when Father pressed it into his hand, his fingers curled around it until the metal leaves cut into his palm and fingers.
The ship was ready.
It was time.