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Amelia
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I woke up with a sense of dread filling the air. Today was the day. After a week of training and practice, today was the funeral for the event that started it all. Many died during the battle, but Dexter would be focusing on one death in particular. I slowly turned and rose from the bed as my hair drooped into my face, partially obscuring my vision. I quickly pulled the strands into a ponytail as I strolled into the barn. I rounded the end of the car and stopped abruptly. Dexter was sitting on the office chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring intently at his pile of clothes before him. His hands slowly moved across his face as he seemed to contemplate. I took a few steps towards him, then stopped. From where I stood I could see the corner of his reddened eyes. His cheek glistened in the morning light. “I'll leave him to his own thoughts for now.” I thought, moving quietly over to where I'd placed the dress. I faltered again as I saw Dexter had placed his own shoes next to it, accompanied by a handful of socks stuffed into each of them.
I picked up the dress, as well as Dexter's gift, and crept to the other side of the car. I set the dress down on another table, gazing at the floral symbol embroidered on the front. It was a simple design, a single repeating pattern radiating out from the chest as if a flower had been flattened from above, stopping just short of the sides of the dress. From there it was composed of vertical stripes of alternating beige and green. I stared at it with slight contempt. “I hate where it came from, but it's the closest fitting thing for a funeral like this.” I rubbed the hem of the dress, scraping the dirt off of it. I could still remember the night I'd stumbled through that spot of mud.
I'd spent days learning and memorizing the patrols, been careful to be utterly silent sneaking through their camp and carefully studied their maps for the best escape route. They wouldn't have known of my disappearance till morning, giving me several hours to make it to the border. I had been lucky to be where I was when Dexter made his grand entrance, lucky to have gotten to his landing spot first, and extremely lucky that the car still worked and was so well equipped. The stars themselves must have aligned that day to facilitate such an escape. Had I left half an hour sooner, I'd have been too far away to notice the flying car, any later and I wouldn't have been the first to arrive at his landing site. Had the car tilted too far in either direction, a starter would've been the smallest thing that broke. If anything changed in the slightest, I'm pretty sure either one or both of us, would not have made it out of there.
I shook my head as I forced myself to focus on today. I couldn't allow myself to dwell on the past. Dexter would be doing that enough as it is. I slipped out of my clothes, letting them fall to the floor, as I formulated my plan for the day. “Get ready for, then attend, the funeral. Keep an eye on Dexter and make sure he stays calm. Then get back and try to coax some of Dexter's mindset into the open.” I let out a sigh as I rubbed my hands together. The air around me was still cold, but it wasn't as startling as yesterday. I decided to put on the dress before anything else could distract me. I took off my undershirt and placed it on the table. The dress had enough support to allow going without it. I decided to leave the boxers on. The outfit lacked any sort of covering for that area and the medieval panties that came with it weren't at all to my liking. The fabric scraped along my skin as I pulled the gown over my head. I pushed my arms through the sleeves, the wrists stopping partway up my forearm. It was still as tight as I remember, forcing me to take slightly shallower breaths. The dress fell to just above my ankles, leaving me just enough room for movement. I reached over and grabbed a pair of socks, slipping them on as I heard Dexter sniff loudly from the other side of the car. I let out another sigh as I heard him move about. “Hopefully, he'll be able to compose himself for the funeral.”
I stuffed the remaining socks further into the shoes as I slipped them on. Dexter was right about the difference in size. The socks mitigated the problem perfectly, leaving a small allowance for comfort. I grinned slightly as I wiggled my feet within the fluffy confines. The funeral would be horrible, but at least I wasn't about to attend barefoot. I looked up and spotted the Rubik's cube, partially solved from the last time someone used it. My face went slack, and I slowly sat back as the grim prospects of today suddenly washed over me. “Shel's gone. She's not coming back. All the training and magic in the world isn't going to change that fact.” I let out a sigh as I felt the fourth stage of grief finally take hold. I'd been hesitant of this stage. The idea of depression always sounded terrible. I always heard it described as a feeling of emptiness. A feeling that sucked all the joy out of life, leaving only sorrow behind. . . . The description was pretty accurate. I let the tears slowly leak out as my memories of Shel wandered through my mind. “Her voice, her smile, her ingenuity.” For several minutes misery racked my body, bringing the harsh reality of today to the forefront of my concerns. I sat there as I waited for the tears to end.
I wiped my face as they finally subsided. I took in a shaky breath as I reconciled my thoughts. “You can do this. You just need time to think and formulate a plan. He saved you before, the least you can do is help him now.” I looked up at the Cube again. Its mismatched faces still reminded me of Shel's absence, but it didn't invoke the despair it did before. I let out another sigh as I finished wiping my face of my outburst. “That's it, just stay calm and make a plan.” I reached behind my head and felt my shoulder-length ponytail. Going a full month without proper care, then two weeks without any shampoo had left it dry and frayed. I looked up at the side mirror of Dexter's car. “I might as well fix it a little bit.” I thought, standing up and moving over to it. I couldn't do anything about how it felt, but at the very least I could make it more presentable.
I draped my hair over my shoulder, giving me a clear view as I tried to braid it. I could hear Dexter moving about on the other side of the car. A few words floated over as I worked. “bullshit . . . the city . . . bastard . . .” I glanced through the car window. I saw the darkened figure of Dexter pulling off his long sleeve shirt. The tint blocked my view of any other details, but I could tell he was agitated. I decided to wait a little longer, no point in further upsetting him. I moved back to my own appearance, the dry hair giving me some difficulty as I tried to weave it. I eventually finished and tied the braid off with a spare rubber band. It was a little loose, but it still looked better than my usual ponytail. I stroked it as I tried to think of something to say to Dexter. “If he's focusing on the city, he's likely still in the second stage. But just a few days ago he was thinking about other possible outcomes. If that's the case, then he's got to be regressing.” I shook my head as I moved back over to the chair. “If he keeps that up he'll never move on.” I let out a sigh as I sat back down, waiting for Dexter to finish his own preparations.
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Dexter took longer to get ready than I expected, or he was ready for a while and decided to alert me to the arrival of our breakfast. Regardless, I sat there for what must have been an hour before Dexter knocked on the car. tap tap tap “Food's here.” He said flatly, his voice carrying across the barn. I stood and followed the sound of his voice. I rounded the corner and spotted him standing over another platter, carefully tearing another set of ribs apart. The dark button-up shirt was a bit more form-fitting than his usual T-shirts. The sleeves hugged his arms and the chest looked a little tight on him, showing off the general landscape of his torso. In contrast, the khakis seemed a bit loose on him. They draped smoothly down his legs and stopped just above his shoes, hiding any and all features. I slowly walked over as I saw his reddened cheeks. “No doubt irritated by his own emotional outbursts.” I thought, stopping beside him.
I gently picked up one of the loaves and examined it, the buttery pastry still warm from cooking. “You think they'll eventually give us something else besides meat and bread?” I asked, gesturing at the platter.
Dexter thought for a moment then shook his head. “They're changing up the seasoning enough so that we won't get tired of it anytime soon.” He replied, setting one-half of the ribs on the edge of the platter and picking up the other. “It’s not too noticeable, but the change is enough to put the brain off the cycle of repetition.” I nodded as I watched him tear one of them off.
I took a small bite out of the loaf as I tried to broach the subject of the upcoming events. “You about ready for the funeral?” I asked delicately. Dexter paused, mouth half-open to take a bite from the ribs.
After a moment he let out a sigh and then nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be.” He replied solemnly, biting into the meat. He brought the piece to one side of his mouth so that he could eat and still carry a bit of conversation. “The attire is less than ideal, the red still pops too much for something like this, but it’s the best I got. . . . There’s nothing I can do about the past.” I nodded as I finished the roll and delicately tore up my own share of meat, not daring immediately punctuate the thought with another question. I pulled the meat covered bone from the others and brought the piece to my lips. I took a small bite as we ate in silence for a few minutes.
I finally finished the morsel as Dexter delicately ate through a second bone. I set the bone aside as I finally dared to break the silence. “How long before it starts?” I asked. Dexter chewed a few more times as he let out a low sigh. He finally turned his wrist and showed me his sports watch. 9:47, the digital display read. The date was positioned just above it, January 21st.
Dexter swallowed before speaking. “We have another hour or so.” He replied, setting the clean bone down. “We'll leave around eleven. That should give us enough time to get up to the Great Hall. Assuming a forty-five-minute margin of error, we should get there just before it starts.” I nodded at the reasoning. “Forty-five minutes is definitely enough of an error. We don’t exactly know their time measurement method. If it’s based on the sun, their noon might be earlier or later in the day than ours. In any case, he seems willing to talk. I just got to find a way to move forward.” I took another bite as I allowed Dexter to relax for a while and we continued to eat. The plate of flood slowly depleted as we quietly ate. As we were finishing I set down t last bone and finally asked the question.
I let out a small sigh as I considered how I would phrase it. I decided to just be forward with it. “How are you feeling?” I asked cautiously. Dexter stopped, mid-bite.
After a minute he slowly lowered the rib and let out a sigh, rubbing the bone with his thumb. “Fine, I suppose.” He replied flatly. “Granted, I'm still agitated at the whole ordeal, but it's not going to change the facts of the matter. Even if I don't like it, whatever happens, happens.” I nodded, glad that he was willing to talk.
He seemed much calmer and more collected. “What about . . . Shel?” I asked. “You okay about her?” Dexter briefly tilted his head slightly to the side as he heard my question, causing his neck to let out soft pops. He corrected himself quickly and was silent for another minute, his face now a gentle scowl.
Dexter suddenly let out a low growl as he set the rib back onto the plate. “There's nothing I can do about her.” He replied, quickly standing and walking away.
I stood and chased after him as I tried to stop him. “Dexter, wh-” I began, grabbing his shoulder.
Dexter just ripped his shoulder out of my grasp as he redoubled his pace. “There's Nothing I Can Do.” He walked away before I could press him further. He reached the ladder and climbed up, disappearing over the edge of the loft. I let out a sigh and turned back to the platter. Dexter still had a roll and half a rib left. I let out a sigh as I rubbed my face, agitated at my own haste.“That didn't go well.” I thought. “Well, you shouldn't have pushed him. He's obviously still upset about her. Grief or no grief, you should've waited.” I continued to berate myself as I cleaned off the plate, leaving the uneaten bits alone in case Dexter wanted them later. I definitely couldn't talk to Dexter in that state, let alone help him. He just needed time, time to think. “If he still has intentions for the funeral he'll eventually come down. I just have to wait.” I set the half-finished plate aside as I sat in the office chair and began to relax. I let out a sigh as I leaned back and awaited Dexter's return.
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I spent the rest of the morning patiently waiting for Dexter. The plate of food grew cold as the hours ticked by, counting down to the funeral. I felt a resurgence of conflicting emotions as I thought about what was about to transpire. The waves of emotions grew lesser as I calmed myself in the comfort of the barn. I didn't have a watch, but it definitely felt like midday by the time he decided to come back down. I chose to stay quiet as Dexter walked over from the ladder. His face had returned to its now default disinterested expression. “Ready to go?” He asked. I nodded, standing as I stretched. Dexter nodded in kind, then turned and walked towards the sliding door. I followed him outside as I rubbed my hands together, warming them against the still chilly wind.
The sun was high in the sky, barely free of the storm clouds brewing on the horizon. Despite the sun's presence, the air had chilled slightly since that morning. I followed Dexter as we made our way towards the Great Hall. He said nothing as the building in the distance grew larger and larger. A soft rumble echoed across the city as we walked. I glanced at the houses as we passed. The usual activity was entirely absent today. The city itself felt quiet and abandoned. The silence was broken only by the occasional clatter and the distant rumble of thunder. I turned to Dexter as we continued to walk. He ignored me, choosing instead to stare intently at the approaching building. I turned towards the building as well, choosing to wait for him to open up.
We walked for about ten minutes, each step bringing the funeral closer and closer. The sinking feeling in my stomach grew as we climbed higher and higher up the hill. Finally, we arrived at the Great Hall, stopping just before one of the side doors into the building. The dim room within gave the Hall a dark and solemn look. I could hear soft murmurs through the open doors. I glanced at Dexter again. He stared stone-faced at the stretch of blackness, jaw clenched tightly. I slowly reached out and gently took his hand. He let in a slow breath and turned to me, blinking the tears from his eyes. I didn't say anything, merely nodded. Dexter sighed and nodded in response, wiping the tears from his eyes. We both turned back towards the door and stepped inside.
It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. The only source of light was the scattered entrances to the Hall and the slow-burning braziers mounted to the pillars. The Hall was practically empty. Only a few clusters of orcs were present at the moment. I did a double-take as I saw a group of about twenty nearby. The men had replaced their usual ponytail with a sort of bun, like the ones you'd see in old Japanese movies. The shawls themselves were replaced with long dark animal skin ponchos that covered most of their bodies. The women appeared to have gone a similar route, though with a degree of variety that was noticeably absent with the men. Their long hair was pulled into a series of buns. Each of them was unique to the other, either in number or placement of the buns. The robes they wore were a bit shorter but appeared to come in the same variety as their hair, folded in a number and assortment of ways with small tinges of color accenting the black. They looked far more serious and professional than the shawls and free-flowing hair they wore before. I had no trouble believing that this was their professional attire.
My survey of the orcs was interrupted when I spotted one of them walking over. It took my eyes another second to adjust, but there was no mistaking Bulak's violet eyes. Her dark red hair was tied into a series of three buns, one on top of the other behind her head. Her poncho had a slight green tone to it, highlighting her bright eyes. She waved quietly as she stopped beside us. “You have arrived early.” She whispered. “The funeral does not start for a while.” She glanced down at my attire and her eyes went wide. “Why are you wearing that?” She hissed, gesturing at the dress. I glanced down at the floral symbol on the front. “That is the symbol of the elf that caused all of this.”
I shifted on my feet as I realized what she was saying. “It was all I had.” I murmured defensively. “I wasn't about to come here in a T-shirt and shorts.”
Bulak let out an aggravated sigh as she glanced around the hall. “Whatever those are, it still would have been better than that.” She hissed, gesturing angrily. “Do you have any idea what that symbol means to us?”
Dexter took a step between me and Bulak, raising his hands calmingly. “Regardless of the symbol, she wouldn’t have gone in such casual apparel.” He whispered softly. “A funeral isn't something you attend wearing those types of clothes. Despite what you may think, we don't want to disrespect the dead.” Bulak glared at Dexter. Dexter let out a calm sigh as he glanced around. “If it's going to be that much of a problem, maybe you have an alternative?”
After a minute, Bulak let out a sigh. “I have an idea for such,” She mumbled. “but you must don it immediately. I do not wish to risk someone taking unkindly to your attire.” I nodded as Bulak waved for me to follow. I waved goodbye towards Dexter as I followed Bulak and we left him in the Great hall. She guided me towards a doorway to the left of the throne, pulling it open to reveal a set of stairs. We moved to climb it as she voiced her plan. “I will explain the proceedings to Dexter once we return.” She said as we climbed. “It is best if the two of you know what is to happen today. If your dress skins are so unusual, I imagine your other customs are equally bizarre.”
I nodded again as continued to climb. “Probably about as bizarre as yours is to us,” I remarked. “Though it looks like there are similarities. Dark colors seem to be the go-to for professional settings.”
Bulak nodded as we arrived on the second floor. “It would seem so,” She affirmed. I nodded as I looked around. The hallway was as dimly lit as the room downstairs, more firey chandeliers casting a dancing light along the walls. I glanced at the animal heads lining the walls. Their eyes seemed to glare back as I walked behind Bulak. “The ceremony will begin with a symphony of drums. During which the representatives of each flokkr will be carried into the center of the hall.” She glanced at me as she pulled open one of the doors. Spotting my quizzical expression, she elaborated on her words. “A warrior's funeral requires a fair amount of resources. To avoid unnecessary waste, the deaths in a single conflict are often placed in the same boat and the rites are bestowed on representatives of the flokkr.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
She led me through one of the doors as she continued to explain. “There are three flokkrs recognized by us; soldiers, civilians, and mages.” I let out a small gasp as I saw what was beyond the door. The room beyond was large, about three of the barn's stables would be able to squeeze inside, easily. One side of the room housed a bed, a wardrobe, and several smaller tables and chairs. A polished silver mirror hung on the far wall. The other side housed more warrish equipment: racks of weapons, tools, and armor; a mechanical grindstone; and a table loaded down with stacks of parchment. Bulak moved over to the wardrobe as she explained further. “Each representative will be bestowed a ritual item. Their rites symbolically extend to the flokkr they represent. During the ritual, my father will stand and speak briefly to those in attendance.” She pulled open the wardrobe and began rummaging through it. “As soon as he has finished, the representatives will be transported to the burial grounds; in this instance, Lake Diroz.” She turned to me as she gestured at the wardrobe. “Do you have a preference for color?” She asked. I glanced down at the dress.
“I guess brown or green to go with this,” I replied. Bulak nodded as she reached into the wardrobe. I thought about what she'd said for a minute. I shifted slightly as a question came to mind. “These representatives . . . they're not . . .”
“They are also deceased,” Bulak replied before I could finish. “It is why they are chosen to be representatives.” I nodded as Bulak pulled a brown stretch of fur from the wardrobe. “Try this one.” She said, handing it to me. I took it and slipped it on as Bulak continued. “Once the representatives arrive at Lake Diroz, Garahk will anoint the vessel and the final interment will commence.” She glanced at the hem of the poncho as it fell to my knees, covering most of the dress and weighing me down. “Slightly too big.” She remarked. She glanced at the wardrobe. “I can take the next few moments to shorten it to your waist, or I can rummage through my furs for a smaller size.” I looked down at the dull brown fur.
“Do you have it in green?” I asked. “The brown doesn't actually look that good.”
Bulak nodded and began to scour her wardrobe as she finished explaining the funeral. “After the interment, there will be a feast in their honor. Depending on who attends, you might be welcomed there. Personally, I am hopeful that you will decide to appear.” She pulled a dark green piece of fur from the wardrobe and handed it to me. “This one should be more suited.” I took the fur and tried it on. This one fell to just below my waist, covering the symbol without overburdening me.
I nodded as I looked back up at Bulak. “Perfect,” I confirmed. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”
Bulak nodded as she closed the wardrobe. “Then let us return. I still need to inform Dexter of today.” I nodded as I followed Bulak out of the room. Our footsteps echoed along the wall as we made our way back to the Great Hall. The room had filled up considerably since we left. Most of the tables were occupied by a small group of orcs conversing amongst themselves. I spotted Dexter near where we'd left him, sitting at one of the large tables lining the hall. He was staring off and didn't notice us until Bulak put her hand on his shoulder.
“You're back.” He whispered, glancing at my attire. “Nice outfit.” He added, pointing at the span of green fur.
I nodded as I glanced down and brushed my hair behind my ear. “Thanks,” I whispered back, sitting next to him. Bulak sat on his other side as she began explaining the funeral again. I looked around the room as Bulak murmured the plans for today to Dexter. We had a good view of the throne. We were about a third of the way back and only one table separated ours from the open floor through the middle of the Hall. The high ceiling gave the room a noble and important atmosphere. The pillars seemed to give off this aura of strength, adding to the atmosphere of the room. Only about two hundred were here at the moment, leaving most of the hall empty. Thankfully, they seemed too invested in their own conversations to pay any attention to us. I turned to Bulak as she finished explaining to Dexter.
I saw Dexter glance at his watch as another group of orcs entered the building. “How long before it all starts?” He asked.
Bulak gestured towards the front of the room. “Another hour or so,” Bulak replied. “There are still a few small preparations that are being completed. After that, the ceremony can begin.”
Dexter nodded as he let out a long sigh. “You won't have a part to play in this?” He asked.
Bulak shook her head. “I have no place in such a somber occasion, chief's daughter or not,” Bulak replied softly. “Besides that, I have decided to accompany the two of you; in case anyone attempts to cause you trouble.”
Dexter nodded, grinning softly at the idea. “Thank you for that.” He whispered. “I definitely don't want to have to make a scene today.”
Bulak nodded as she ran a hand along Dexter’s shoulder. “Snakhagr has seen enough violence for the moment,” Bulak said. “We should honor the dead while we can. I have a feeling the city won't be quiet for much longer.” Dexter nodded as he turned back to stare at the throne. I mimicked his movement as we began to wait.
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The hour before the funeral slowly ticked by. The Hall gradually filled with orcs as it grew closer and closer. At last a few orcs appeared and began closing the doors into the Hall. I glanced at Bulak, silently questioning her. She nodded in response and pointed towards the throne. I looked over and saw a group of orcs preparing an array of drums made of clay and hide, tied to their waist with some kind of harness. Other orcs around the Hall noticed and a hush filled the room. After another minute of silence, they began their song, using wooden mallets to hammer out deep thrumming tune. boom . . boom boom bam . . . boom boom The drums reverberated solemnly as another door across the Hall opened. I watched as a group of orcs, wearing more black ponchos and carrying a rowboat, emerged from the open door. I glanced at Bulak and she nodded. I turned back in time to see two more groups emerging from the doorway. A small procession of orcs in multi-colored fluffy ponchos emerged behind them, carrying a number of small items . . and a battle axe, and followed them into the center of the room. The orcs placed the rowboats a few yards in front of the throne, bow facing forward, angling it so that we could gaze at what was inside. I took in a breath as I saw the body of an orc nestled within each boat. It's one thing to know you were going to a funeral. It's entirely different to have the reality of it stare you in the face. They wore ponchos like the others, dark and bleak; the vessel on the far right carried one wearing a fluffy variety of it. Their faces were uncovered, face slack and peaceful; it almost looked like they were sleeping. Their arms were crossed, fists nestled in the pit of their elbow. I glanced at Dexter as I felt him shift slightly. His face had hardened, and his left fist had clenched. I reached over and gently caressed his arm, trying to comfort him.
I turned back as the drums grew quiet and Dubak emerged from the doorway. He wore a poncho, this one a dark red, like Bulak's own hair. His head was devoid of his crown of bones, displaying his age peppered black hair. He strolled into the center of the room, between the audience and the boats. He was silent for a minute as the precession of multi-colored orcs began their work on the boats, lowering items and oil into them. The drums continued to hum softly in the background as Dubak seemed to think. “A solemn occasion brings us here today.” He finally began. “An occasion that has set us against each other, against our own brothers and sisters. There is no denying that quarrels have broken out across Snakhagr. . . But these quarrels do not matter to the dead. They are now beyond our squabbles, concerned only with the legacy they have left behind. . . Today, we honor those that lost their lives in the battle one week prior. Today, we depart them from this world as honorable and noble. May they find peace in the after.” I glanced at Dexter as Dubak continued to speak. His hardened face didn't betray any emotion beyond agitation. I turned back as I heard Dubak finish his speech. He had turned to the boats, gesturing to each of them as he spoke. “May Kremthu guide the soldiers towards their proper stations, the citizens to their place on the field, and the mages to the library of after.” With that, Dubak turned and silently drifted towards the throne as the other orcs finally drew back from their own task. They followed him into the crowd of orcs as the drums grew louder again. boom boom . . . boom bam . . . boom I turned to the three boats as the room continued to reverberate with the drums.
It looked like they had divided the objects amongst the three vessels. Their faces were now covered by colorful wooden masks, bearish features added to the already monstrous features of the orcs. There were smaller trinkets tucked into the boats with them. However, most notable were the objects placed on their chests. The leftmost orc had the battleaxe tucked under his arms. From where I sat I could see strange symbols etched on the flat of the blades. The middle orc had a wooden cylinder placed on his chest, not dissimilar to the container Dexter had received, though I could see more symbols etched on it. A handheld sickle accompanied the cylinder, more runic symbols etched into the metal of the blade. The orc on the right had a book positioned under his arms. Symbols covered its front as they seemed to give off a faint glow. I glanced at Bulak, silently questioning her again. “Ritual items,” She whispered. “for their trip to the after.” I turned back to the ceremony. The group of black-clad orcs had come out again and were just lifting the boats back up. They slowly turned began marching down the length of the Hall, the musicians moving to follow them closely. The orcs along the Hall were beginning to rise. I glanced at Bulak again and she motioned for us to wait. I turned back and watched as the procession slowly approached. The crowd slowly grew as it made its way down the hall. A few chose to remain seated as the procession passed, leaving them at almost empty tables along the Hall. There was barely a dry eye amongst the congregation, man or woman. I wiped away a tear of my own as I felt it dripped down my face.
The procession moved by as Bulak rose, motioning for me and Dexter to follow. I glanced at Dexter, still stone-faced, as we rose and began to follow Bulak. She maneuvered us to join the congregation as the doors at the far end of the Hall were pulled open. The light from outside streamed into the Great Hall, banishing the darkness that had filled it earlier, yet draining the warmth from the Hall. We gradually made our way into the unforgiving air outside as the procession began to grow. At last, we emerged into the cold light. I glanced up as we slowly made our way down the hill. The sky had changed from partly cloudy, to completely overcast, blocking the little warmth the city was getting from the sun. The drums continued the thump as we descended. Boom boom . . . boom . . . . boom boom boom I glanced at the buildings on either side of us. More orcs in ponchos were standing there, watching the parade, staring pensively at the rowboats. Some joined the congregation once we'd passed, others retreated into their homes, face filled with tears.
I glanced at Dexter again as I grew concerned with him again. His face had yet to change. He seemed determined to gaze poignantly at the boats ahead of us. I turned in kind, resigned to this new state of Dexter. Our solemn procession continued to grow as a flash streaked across the clouds and another soft boooooom echoed across the city. The atmosphere was brimming with bleakness as we neared the base of the hill. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH” A wail of despair suddenly echoed over the procession. I turned to see an orc on her knees, hands clutched to her face as she sobbed uncontrollably. I felt a lump in my throat as I heard her sorrow-filled cries. I covered my mouth as I felt another wave of grief wash over me. We passed more grieving orcs as we gradually made our way to another gate, this one untouched by the battle. Rows of guards stood on either side of the doors. They suddenly signaled to something out of sigh as we grew closer. The large wooden doors were slowly pulled open as the drums reached the apex of their anthem. Boom boom boom bam bam boom The congregation slowly approached, then passed through the open gate; cobblestone turning to dirt as they crossed the threshold. I turned as a commotion penetrated the procession. Orcs were parting as if to let something through.
A pair of guards suddenly emerged from the crowd and grabbed me and Dexter. “You are not permitted to leave.” One of them growled.
Bulak stepped between us as Dexter yanked his hand away. “I will ensure their return.” She spat angrily. “Now release her.” The guards glared at Bulak as Dexter pushed past them and continued with the procession. We stood there and blocked the flow of the procession for a few moments. I gently pulled my arm away as the one gripping me finally relented. They continued to glare at me as Bulak motioned to follow. I turned to her as we rejoined the procession.
I let out a relieved sigh as we left the guards behind. “Thank you. That wouldn't have gone well if you weren't there.”
Bulak nodded as she glanced behind us. “Not everyone admires the two of you for Dexter's deeds,” Bulak explained. “I wish this were not the case, but many orcs still compare you to . . . Him.”
I nodded solemnly, gazing ahead towards the rowboats. “Hopefully Dexter's plan for the rite solves that problem,” I remarked. “Speaking of . . .” I looked forward, expecting to see Dexter. Instead, I saw the near-endless expanse of black ponchos and dark hair. I might have been taller than average, but that did nothing to help me here. I tried to peer over the shoulders of the orcs around us as we slowly made our way to Lake Diroz, but all I could see were more orcs. I turned back to Bulak as she too began scanning the crowd. “Can you see where Dexter went?” I asked. Bulak turned her head several times before answering.
“I cannot.” She admitted. “With an outsider of his stature, he should be easy to find.”
I nodded as I craned my neck and tried to peek over the heads of the orcs. “You would think,” I remarked.
Bulak suddenly paused as she thought for a minute. “I doubt he will stray from the funeral. If we stay with them, we may yet see him again.”
I rubbed my head as I relaxed and continued following the procession. “I guess you're right.” I sighed. “I just hope he doesn't get himself into trouble.” Bulak nodded as another flash ran across the sky, followed shortly by a low booooom.
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Lake Diroz was a twenty-minute walk from the city. The clouds overhead had grown darker and punctuated the drums with its own rumbles of thunder. The drums up ahead mostly overshadowed the heavenly tremors. boom . . boom boom Bang . . . boom All the while, an occasional wail or sob could be heard over the drums at the front. There were small groups that had stopped on the side of the procession as a few of them broke down into tears. In truth, I had trouble holding back tears of my own. Shel was gone, even more had lost their own lives. They had all fought because of my presence in the city. Those in the boats had lost their lives because of me, all because that bastard elf sent an army after me. I'd brought an army to Snakhagr and people had died because of it. I shook my head as I banished the thought. “Don't start thinking like that.” I berated myself. “Shel's death isn't your fault. There's no way you could've known what would happen from your escape. Just get through this.” I wiped away a tear as the orcs in front of my slowly fanned out, parting as the ground gave way to a massive lake. The opposite bank was barely visible through a thin fog that covered the water. Half the orcs continued to follow the drums towards some sort of Viking longboat, while the other half turned left and followed the water's edge. I turned to Bulak as she seemed to wait for me to choose. “Pick either direction.” She said. “You may choose to gaze upon their final vessel, or acquire a vantage point to watch their final descent.” I paused for a minute as I tried to decide what to do. “Which option would be less heart-wrenching? Watch as, I'm guessing, the ship sinks into the lake, or have one final goodbye? What about Dexter? What would he want to do?”
I tried to dry my nose as I finally came to a decision. sniff “Let's head for the ship. I think Dexter will want to say goodbye to Shel. We might find him there.” Bulak nodded as she began following the drums. I trailed behind her as the tears threatened to start streaming from my face. The feeling of guilt and sorrow was not a constant fascet. All I could do was wipe away the tears as they came one after the other. As we got closer I could see it was definitely a Viking longship, shields, sail, and everything. The only difference was the three neat piles of masked bodies stacked onto the deck; a small one at the bow of the ship, a large pile near the middle, and a smaller one near the stern. They all wore the same black ponchos and masks the orcs in the rowboat had on. The ship was currently beached on a set of half-buried logs. There was a ramp leading up to a wooden platform, allowing the orcs to easily embark and disembark the ship. I followed Bulak up the ramp as the procession split again, some choosing to stay on the ground while others also chose to follow the rowboats onto the platform. I watched as the rowboats were carried onto the ship and placed near one of the piles. I suddenly heard a soft pop and spotted Garahk standing on the platform next to the longship, her staff gripped firmly in her fingers. Her purple ram shawl was also replaced with a fluffy poncho of the same tint. She was pouring a bottle of oil into a larger pitcher. The drummers stood near the edge of the platform as Garahk seemed to prepare a special concoction. boom . . boom boom When she was finished she lifted and carried it onto the ship.
Bulak leaned over to explain as Garahk approached the pile at the bow of the ship. “She is anointing each flokkr so that they may travel swiftly to the after.” She explained softly, gesturing at each of the piles as she continued. “First the civilians, then the soldiers, then the mages.” I nodded as I watched Garahk pour some of the pitcher's contents on the few bodies at the bow. I took in a breath as I saw two tiny bodies amongst them. The tears were streaming out now, unaffected by my efforts to quell them. I covered my mouth and watched through bleary vision as Garahk turned and moved to the middle of the ship, pouring a small trail of oil as she went. She repeated the process of dousing the masked bodies in the contents on both remaining piles. She seemed to pause at the final pile before sighing and pouring the last of the contents onto them. She then turned and disembarked from the ship, setting the pitcher gently on the ground as she stepped onto the platform again.
She turned to the crowd as the drums dwindled again, allowing Garahk to speak. “We now commit these souls to the dust.” She said so that all could hear. “For from the dust we came, and to the dust, we shall return. Such is the world.” She then turned to the stern and made a gesture. There was a brief pause before the ship slowly started to roll forward. I watched as the longship gradually moved forward, pushed by orcs below the platform. The water parted as the ship slid the rest of the way into the lake and float out onto the lake. I wiped away some of the tears as I watched the ship slowly drift out, the drums rising in tempo once more. boom boom . . . boom The orcs were silent as they watched the ship drifting on the lake.
Bulak leaned slightly as she pointed towards the ship. “This is a warrior's burial.” She whispered. I noticed Garahk gesturing towards her staff as she stared out at the ship. The gemstone glowed softly as soft tendrils of plasma seemed to sprout from it. She suddenly thrust her staff forward and a massive fireball launched from the end of it. The raging inferno sailed through the air as it illuminated the lake, banishing the fog that had been there earlier. It struck the longship squarely in the center, setting its cargo ablaze. The drums approached another climax as the oil caught fire and the inferno spread throughout the deck. I watched through bleary eyes as the flames slowly engulfed the ship, throwing a massive plume of smoke into the air. I heard more wails of anguish as the sounds of crackling timber filled the air, eating at the oil-soaked ship. I wiped my face vigorously as I watched the flames roar high, eating everything in its path. I gasped as I finally saw what Bulak meant.
The fire wasn’t producing ordinary flames, these curves of plasma expanded beyond their normal colors. Green, blue, even purple flames danced as one on the deck of the ship, spitting an equally colorful plume of smoke into the sky. The crackling wood was suddenly joined by a sizzling sound as the ship began to dip into the water, hot vapor joining the smoke as they both reached into the sky. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I saw the colors billowing from the ship, a rainbow of smoke being circled by the evaporating water around it. The ship continued to sink and spit flames towards the sky. The drums reached their crescendo as the ship finally sank below the surface and was claimed by the lake, smothering the flames and smoke and leaving us with a slowly growing pillar of vapor. boom boom boom I wiped away more tears as the orcs gradually started walking back to the city. Bulak placed her hand gently on my shoulder as my chest heaved slightly. “Take as long as you need.” She said comfortingly. “I am here for you.” I nodded softly as sobs wracked my body. I stood there as I waited for the tears to slowly subside again.
After a few minutes, I finally composed myself and was ready for the walk back to Snakhagr. sniff “Let's go.” I said, walking briskly to join the silent procession towards the city. “I don't think we'll find Dexter out here.” Bulak nodded as we began our journey. The sky rumbled again as the clouds finally opened up and pour water from the heavens.